


Atlas Has Stars in His Eyes

by LadyLisa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Angst, Awkward Flirting, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Attempted Suicide, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Light BDSM, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-World War II, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Roman Myths, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 50,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26759515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLisa/pseuds/LadyLisa
Summary: While sneaking into the Louvre one chance night, jaded painter Feliciano Vargas encounters Ludwig Beilschmidt, working as a guard to help himself afford a flat in West Berlin. Despite thinking they wouldn’t meet again, certain circumstances lead to the pair spending several weeks together in Berlin.
Relationships: Germany/North Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 121
Kudos: 125





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea actually comes from a Spamano fic I wrote over the summer where I mentioned Feliciano dreamed about running off to Paris and living with a clan of up-and-coming artists in a hostel and sneaking into the Louvre at midnight.* I've been meaning to write something in divided Berlin for an embarrassingly long time, so I figured I'd entwine them. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> *this isn't a continuation of Loons Opposite the Bay, I'm just ripping myself off
> 
> Spotify and I have a complicated relationship, so for now I'll link the befitting songs in the notes.  
> [Cigarettes out the Window - TV Girl](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=43IuEz8z0a4)

He could have been another statue, unmoving before the pallid forms of Eros and Psyche, wan from pewter night-light and smeared graphite shadows. But then he turned his head, studying the quiver of arrows along the curve of Eros’s back. Ludwig saw his face beneath that silvered edge of marble feathers, features darkened in shadow but heightened in moonlight, chiaroscuro, turning his expression into a caricature of the surrounding statues; their yearning faces, their outstretched arms reaching for nothing. 

“Hey!” Ludwig’s voice was an unwelcome visitor to the still silence. 

The shadows shifted as he appeared from underneath Eros’s wing. Ludwig didn’t know what he expected upon turning his torch on him, but certainly not someone so slight or ordinary-looking, a sketchbook tucked under his arm and a fair few pencils behind his ear. 

Now he spoke, and his tone was better recepted in the hushed hall. “You, you’re new.” Ludwig nodded. “I’m Feliciano Vargas, and I promise, I’m not here to cause any trouble. You can ask any of the guards, I’m only looking.” He extended a hand, but Ludwig didn’t even give it a glance. 

“‘Just looking,’” he scoffed. “Do you think I’m stupid?” Feliciano frowned at this and dropped his hand. “I’ll turn you over to the police for breaking and entering if you don’t leave in the next minute.” 

“I didn’t break in,” he insisted. “I unlocked the door.” He grinned at Ludwig’s expression and rummaged in his pocket for a set of keys, clinking against one another crisply in the cold, empty gallery before he tucked them away. “I like to come here to think, that’s all.” 

Pivoting slightly, he looked over at Eros and Psyche, lined alabaster, dust dancing above them in the strings of light. “I thought if I sketched the statues I might get some inspiration, and—”

“I don’t care if you don’t have inspiration for your art projects. You’re trespassing private government property and you’re not authorized. Where did you even get a key?” 

“Hmm. Does it matter?” He tucked his sketchbook behind his back and smiled in a manner Ludwig considered far too pleasant. “Besides, why can’t I be here? Did someone specifically say, ‘Mr. Feliciano Vargas can’t be in the Louvre tonight?’”

“I can’t let _anyone_ in.” 

“I’m not just anyone.” He leaned in and whispered it, and Ludwig started to think he wasn’t the slightest bit concerned at being caught or about the police. “I know the guards get lonely. Stay with me, you’ll see I’m not here to do anything. I’m very amusing.”

“To whom?” Ludwig snapped. He got no answer, for Feliciano had turned away and sat cross-legged on the smooth floor. Feliciano breathed another low sigh, inhaling the chilly stone, the pulled canvas, the aged oil paint and faint turpentine scent on his shirt. 

“It’s hard to draw in the dark,” he noted, opening his sketchbook and taking one of the pencils from out behind his ear. “The last guard let me use his torch, and we would sit together and talk. He had the _worst_ marriage, his poor wife…” Feliciano shook his head a bit. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Ludwig squatted down beside him and gripped Feliciano’s arm. Beneath his thumb, Ludwig could feel his pulse, haggard and hurried and so hard it flitted beside his throat. He was afraid. Ludwig let go. 

“Get out or I will call the police. You’re lucky I haven’t cuffed you already,” Ludwig said. There was a mere breath between their faces, drawn into exaggeration from his torch.

“You’re not allowed to have handcuffs,” Feliciano said, though it was more reassurance to himself. “If you did, I would slip right out of them.” He regained his faltered smile. 

“Fine, so you get away from me tonight. I’ve got your name and your face, I’ll turn you over and you’ll end up in prison.”

“Oh, you can try and track me down,” Feliciano murmured. “But if you do… you’ll see the truth.” Ludwig inclined his head. Now they were so close he could see the shift of Feliciano’s Adam’s apple when he spoke. “I’ve been dead for forty-seven years!” Ludwig let out and exasperated noise and leaned back. “Only joking!” Feliciano added, giving a little hum of laughter. “But really, no one’s going to find me. I’m a ghost.” 

“I found you.” 

“Maybe I wanted you to.” 

Ludwig stared at him in the uneven darkness for several moments, then shook his head. “This is ridiculous,” Ludwig said. “I don’t care who you are, just get out.” Ludwig stood up. “ _Now_.”

“Alright, alright,” Feliciano said. Ludwig marched him towards the entrance, asurring he was really leaving. Feliciano paused at the doors. “Well, Goodnight, Mr…” he squinted at Ludwig’s nametag. “Beilschmidt? Are you… are you a German?” Ludwig didn’t offer a response, but Feliciano didn’t wait for one, inclining his head and hurrying out the door to leave him in the silence. It was too quiet with him gone; Ludwig could nearly hear his own heart beat. 

Things were not much louder on the opposite side of the door, where Feliciano leaned against the wall and looked up at the sky. There were clouds and no stars, the air spongy with dregs of stale summer humidity and rain that wouldn’t fall.

Up against the Louvre door, staring at the smothered sky and edge of the moon, he waited for the breeze to pick up and the night to change, for the gears to turn in those vacant atrias of his heart. But the air stayed stagnant, the sky smothered, the cogs stiff and motionless.

It was a long walk from the museum to Marianne and Victoria’s hostel, an aged place that made dilapidation seem romantic. Paint flaked off the plaster and the pipes up the side were mottled with rust, but vines and roses grew along the brick, up to the sills of still-lit windows, interiors gauzy from drawn curtains. That moldering romance of chipping wood and paint seemed all the more lovely at night, wrapped up in stars. 

Marianne was sitting at the reception desk, skimming a magazine in the low light. There was an Édith Piaf record on, turned down low and scratching with a rustle like starched linen. 

“Welcome back, Feli,” she said without looking up. “Was it the barista or that grad student?” 

“Neither,” Feliciano said. “I went to see lovely Lisa tonight, as I often do.” Marianne set her magazine down and leaned forward, an excited glint in her eye. “I meant da Vinci’s masterpiece, not an actual woman.” 

“Boo, you’re boring.” Marianne turned back to her magazine, giving it an irritated flourish as Feliciano apologized and headed for the narrow stairs, treading lightly since the lights were off. There was a line of gold beneath the door of Roderich’s music room, and Feliciano crept inside. 

Once the room had been crammed with beds as the one adjacent, but now it was empty but for Roderich’s piano where he sat in the dull night, studying a score. 

Feliciano wandered over to the half-curtained window where Antonio was leaning with his arms crossed, a carton of cigarettes in the slack hand against his hip. Feliciano pulled the curtain aside to look down on the street, listening to the faint murmur of paper and floorboards creak as Antonio shifted his weight. 

Once it might have been eerie how they ignored he was there at all, but they were used to him creeping in early in the morning. Feliciano was used to them being there. In moments like these he truly believed he was only a ghost, another ship passing in the night; lights blinking out to sea. 

“Open the window if you’re going to smoke,” Roderich said, hearing the flick of Antonio’s lighter. Antonio pressed his lips around his cigarette but pushed the window up. Feliciano watched the little flame in the darkness. 

“It didn't help,” he murmured. Antonio snapped his lighter closed. The vanished fire left a stain on Feliciano’s vision. 

“No?” he asked. 

“No. Plus, now there’s this new guard and he seems all stiff about rules.”

  
“Well then, maybe you can finally do something constructive,” Roderich said. Antonio rolled his eyes, tapping his cigarette out the window. “I’ve been saying, maybe what you need is a more drastic change of scenery. With my last piece it was good to go back home.” Feliciano shook his head. 

“Can’t afford it. Not without my dad’s money, anyway, and I still feel so guilty using it.” He turned around again to look back at the sunken heavens, the wind dragging at his cheeks. “I’ve told you, though, I don’t think that’ll help. It’s not just art block or that I don’t like what I draw or paint; I hardly even want to anymore.”

Feliciano sighed and rested his chin in his hands. Roderich pushed his glasses up. Antonio took a long drag on his cigarette. Starved for a response, Feliciano asked, “what are you doing up, Antonio? You’re starting to turn nocturnal.” 

“Just thinking.” 

“Might the two of you go elsewhere? I’m trying to focus,” Roderich muttered, leaning close to his score. 

Antonio glanced at Feliciano. “I guess so. Want a drink? We can go to Sadik’s.” Feliciano nodded, following him downstairs, unlocking the front door for them and stepping back into the unquiet night. “You’re not wrong, you know,” Antonio added, glancing over at him. “I am going nocturnal. But so are you.” 

Feliciano gave a low chuckle. “Yeah. So is Roderich. Kind of seems like we all are.” Antonio nodded. “I like it,” Feliciano decided. “It feels like we’re the only people in the whole of Paris.” 

They walked in silence down the street to Sadik’s small bar, the cobbles streaked with a sallow, oily spill from the streetlamps. Inside it was smokey and too hot, yet it was still one of Feliciano’s favorite spots in the city, drawing all sorts of fascinating people and their charming stories. They clustered in the leather chairs and across scrubbed wooden tables, playing cards in light colored as old book pages. 

“Felice! Antonio!” Sadik called, raising a hand. Feliciano grinned and led Antonio over to the vacated seats at the bar. “A glass of red?” Antonio nodded. “What do you feel like?” he asked Feliciano, who had rested his cheek on his hand and was staring at the bottles behind him. He shrugged, but then sat up a little straighter and smiled. 

“Surprise me.” 

“Hm. A challenge,” Sadik said. Feliciano smiled. He would have liked to complain to Sadik about the guard, but he knew everyone was getting sick of his endless lamenting, even Antonio. But he had nothing else to think about but how tired he felt, the way all his art seemed to fall flat, the sense of being stranded despite being beside people he considered close friends. 

They must feel this frustration sometimes. He had seen Lovino slam his hand on the keys of his typewriter and dig his hands into his hair; Roderich scribbling too hard on his scores until they tore; Antonio solemnly silent and staring out the window with his own disorganize music across his lap; Erzsébet crouched on the floor of Roderich’s music room with her face in her hands and her cheeks flushed with a sheen of sweat and her pointe shoes thrown across the floor.

Those were only moments. Feliciano had had moments like that too, where the frustration and letdown leaked out of him because it got too restless and needed reprieve. It had a finality. 

He looked for a reason, a scapegoat, and found it in his lackluster romantic life. There were times he supposed he had been in love. He supposed it, but he didn’t know. Perhaps they had just crawled in when he closed his eyes to dream and so he dreamed of love. 

“What do you look so contemplative about?” Antonio asked, nudging his elbow. “You’ll be alright, Feli. If anyone knows that, it’s you.” Feliciano smiled and nodded, taking a sip of his drink so he wouldn’t have to speak. Had he ever liked to sit in silence before? 

“I’ve got a moral question for you two,” Sadik said. 

“Uh-oh,” Feliciano muttered. 

“It’s not such a big deal,” he promised. “It’s just… I get all sorts in here, and recently that ‘all sorts’ has included two Germans. I know it’s unfair of me to be suspicious of them, but I can’t help it—” 

“I don’t think any of us can help it,” Antonio cut in. “Not that I think you should turn them out on the street or spit in their drinks, because naturally I wouldn’t assume… well, Feli was never a fascist and I was never part of the Falange, but it’s not as if a war would have happened without mass participation.” 

“Sure, but I can’t exactly ask them what they were up to during it, can I?” Antonio frowned and shook his head. “They seem polite enough, but the quiet one makes me nervous. The rowdier guy somehow seems more trustworthy, because I doubt he could hide something if his life depended on it.”

Antonio considered. “I don’t think it’s unfair to be wary,” he said. “What about you, Feli?” 

Feliciano slowly drew himself out of thought at the sound of his name. “What? I wasn’t paying attention, sorry,” he said. Sadik waved it off, excusing himself to go tend to some other customers. 

“Are you doing alright?” Antonio asked, putting a hand on Feliciano’s arm. It reminded him of the guard gripping his bicep in that shadowy statue hall. “Maybe drinking wasn’t the best idea. Let’s go back, you should get to bed.” Feliciano sighed and nodded, draining his glass while Antonio paid before following him outside.

They walked in silence back to the hostel, and inside Antonio paused and touched Feliciano’s shoulder. “Hey, Feli. Chin up, it’s going to be okay.” Feliciano leaned to hug him, sighing into his coat as Antonio hugged him back. “Just get some rest, at least,” he said, rubbing his shoulder and letting go.

“I’ll just stay awake,” Feliciano muttered. Antonio considered a moment. 

“Roderich is probably still up. Ask him about Kaspar Anton Karl von Beethoven, he’ll talk for hours and eventually it will have to make you sleepy.” 

“Is he related to _the_ Beethoven?” Feliciano asked as they began to climb the stairs. 

“They’re brothers,” Antonio said. “Did you know Beethoven had a brother?” Feliciano shook his head, creeping across the landing and into the hall to Roderich’s room. He didn’t look up when they entered.

“Hey, _Rodrigo_ ,” Antonio said. Roderich’s fingers slipped on the keys and he turned to Antonio. “Just trying to get your attention. I know you’re busy with finishing touches or flourishes or whatever, but he’s having a bit of a rough night, maybe play him something he likes?” Antonio asked in Spanish. Roderich nodded, glancing at Feliciano, who was staring out the window. 

“You can sit with me, Feli,” Roderich said. Feliciano brightened and sat on the piano bench beside him. Feliciano leaned on Roderich’s shoulder as Antonio bade them goodnight and slipped out of the room. “You know I can’t play as well when you do that,” he said tersely. Feliciano just sighed. Roderich sighed back and adjusted his glasses. Feliciano nuzzled closer to his shoulder.

“Thank you, Roderich,” he said, smiling. Roderich nodded, glancing towards the window at the pale navy of oncoming dawn.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Vampire Weeknight - Jenny Owen Youngs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ev2z-VjrWts)

Ludwig watched the frayed edges of the streetlamps’ light when he walked back to his apartment. He watched for nothing and something in unison, for a hint of movement to halt him where he stood in the thinning night. He scorned himself for letting his conscious entertain makeshift ghost stories, but nothing would quiet the unquiet in his mind, so he kept his chin up and back straight and pretended to ignore the noise. 

He paused in front of his apartment building to look for a light in the window. Gilbert ought to be asleep, but Ludwig knew he wasn’t.

Once again his stomach soured with guilt. Gilbert should be asleep. He shouldn’t be here at all, but in Vienna, perhaps with a wife, not waking up before dawn for stale coffee and a solemn vigil for Ludwig.

There he was, at the kitchen table holding his tepid coffee, botched bruises beneath his unfocused eyes that watched the patchwork window and Parisian street turn to a pen and ink sketch in the night. But when Ludwig opened the door he grinned and that careworn cast went out of his face. 

“Hey, Luddy. How was work?” 

“You have to stop doing this,” Ludwig said by way of greeting, hanging up his coat. “It’s getting unhealthy. You’re well aware I’m moving out soon, I don’t need a babysitter.” Gilbert glanced at his stale coffee, and for a moment the exhaustion in his face eclipsed all else. 

“Good morning to you too. I did sleep well, thanks for asking,” he said. “And I prefer myself more of governess, considering how much I’ve taught you.” Ludwig raised an eyebrow. “Whatever. You’ll want to hear this, so put that eyebrow down right now. Remember Roderich? Well, he lives here! We should get together sometime, that’ll cheer you up, I mean, you guys were so close.” The comment was casual, but Gilbert was side-eyeing Ludwig’s reaction. 

Ludwig fished his keys out of his pocket. “Oh, get over your inferiority complex,” he muttered to his coat sleeve. Gilbert made a _hmm_? sound and Ludwig shook his head. “Nothing. Did he write you?” Ludwig asked. 

“No, no, I ran into him at the market. I haven’t seen him since I dropped out. The last letter I got from him was when he was working on his symphony in some cottage outside a ‘curious little village at the foot of the Austrian Alps’ if I remember his prissy prose correctly. Fucking, I think it was called,” Gilbert added. “I thought he was going to ask to catch up! I expected some ‘I would love for you to come join me in Fucking,’ but he didn’t invite me.” Gilbert paused to take a sip of his coffee. “Probably better that way. But I think going around Fucking with him would have been fun. Or staying in a spooky cabin in the Alps.” 

“You hate Roderich,” Ludwig said. 

“Yeah, we had our differences, but at the end of day we got along like oil and water.” 

“I don’t think that phrase had your intended effect.” 

“It certainly did. I have never said anything wrong, ever, in my life, and I’m not about to start now.” Ludwig gave a stiff nod and turned to go to his room. “Wait,” Gilbert said. Ludwig faced him again and Gilbert struggled to produce a singular thought. “You, uh, catch any of those art thieves tonight?” 

“Just kicked someone out.”

“Hey, that’s a great start,” Gilbert said, grinning. “What sort of thieving were they up to?” 

“I’m tired, Gilbert. Goodnight. Have a good day at work.” Gilbert watched Ludwig disappear into his room and put his face in his hand, rubbing his forehead and giving a lost look to the window. 

“Right, right, guess I’ll just go fuck myself then,” Gilbert murmured under his breath, downing the rest of his coffee. 

Ludwig shut his bedroom door and leaned against it, staring at the ceiling. The night shift was more draining than he foresaw, but it was only two weeks. Then he would be in Berlin. Finally he was going home, and maybe being there he would lift the heavens off his aching shoulders and return the burden to Atlas.

Expectations were dangerous, especially these ones who played Solitaire with idealism. They would let him down, and after that shot of excitement would be a bitter hangover. He would be standing still again, the only constant while the world grew up and the dawn went down and people fell in love and fell out of it. 

Yet those expectations were not daunted by pessimism. _Just thirteen more days,_ they told him. Thirteen more days where he would crawl into bed at navy dawn like this, when Aurora had just raised her head to look up at the empty sky. Then he would wake at velvet twilight and wander the Louvre to the sound of his footsteps in the empty, echoing rooms. 

It was the only sound. Sometimes it was so silent he almost heard the stubborn clench of his heart, like calculated steps. That fed into the idea of someone behind him, and it made him pause and look over his shoulder. 

Following the encounter with Feliciano the habit worsened as Ludwig imagined him nearby, lingering on the fringe of sight. Yet the fear was confused, caught in hope brought on by the exhausted longing for company Ludwig refused to acknowledge. No matter how he smothered the cold in his stomach, he recognized it as persistent loneliness, freezing him from the inside out. 

Ludwig was halfway through his round when a murmur slithered from the pitch hall, provoking that wound-up fear and causing his pulse to jump as he shone his torch towards it. Nothing.

Listening to his hushed breath, Ludwig sheltered himself against the wall, feeling safest where the whole room and its encompassing emptiness were visible. Ludwig pinched the skin between his thumb and forefinger until it numbed, proceeding to push on his jugular to feel his pulse falling. 

A hint of movement speared his peripheral vision. His pacified hartbeat leapt to his throat and he shone his torch on the opposite wall, met with exactly what he had feared or hoped: Feliciano, sketchbook clutched to his chest, eyes wide at the sudden uninvited attention. 

“It’s you, isn’t it? That man from the night before?” Ludwig started towards him and Feliciano backed up into the wall. 

“Boo?” Feliciano muttered.

“How the hell are you getting in?” 

“I never leave.” 

Ludwig shook his head. “You’re playing a dangerous game, you know that? I’ve told the other guards about you. I told them to watch, _I told them_ , but I guess nobody can do their fucking job in this goddamn place.” 

“And I told _you_ , you’re the only one who wants me to leave.” Feliciano’s voice was unsteady, but he met Ludwig’s eyes. “Listen, I promise I’m trustworthy. Let’s not have this argument every night, it’ll get tiring for you. It is for me too, but in the long run it’ll be much worse for you. We could become good friends, really. What’s your name? I asked you nicely but you didn’t introduce yourself. Or I think I did, I don’t remember.” 

“I am not going to be your friend. You’re delusional and a criminal. I’m doing my job, and I’m doing it properly, so I don’t care what you’ve done to bribe the others, I won’t let you on the premises. And there is absolutely no reason for us to know each other on a first name basis.” 

“I disagree. We’re going to be spending lots of time together.” Feliciano gave a strained grin that was not reciprocated. “Oh, I know! When’s your shift end? We could get drinks! I know this phenomenal little night bar, and the bartender is one of most charismatic people I know, even you could get along with him.” Ludwig took another step towards Feliciano, who was adamantly trying to become one with the wall. 

“Leave. Don’t make me force you.” 

“Please don’t,” Feliciano murmured. “You can’t enjoy a little company? This has got to be a lonely job.” 

“I don’t want your company.” Feliciano gave a little gasp. 

“Are you saying you don’t like me?” he asked, hugging his sketchbook. “Everyone likes me! Come on, give me a chance—”

“Be _quiet_!” Ludwig snapped, and Feliciano recoiled, still struggling to keep his fear stifled. 

“Told you it would be exhausting,” he said. “So, hello, my name is Feliciano Vargas, it’s nice to meet you.” He extended a hand Ludwig didn't take. “I just want to draw, that’s all. Swear on my mother’s grave.” 

“That’s not the issue, since I don’t anticipate you stealing anything unless this is a highly clever façade. The issue is that you’re asking for free, full access to the Louvre. Who do you think you are?” 

“Just told you, I’m Feliciano Vargas.” 

“Well, Feliciano, you’re ridiculously entitled and can’t seem to understand there are consequences to lawlessness, so even if the other guards turn a blind eye, I won’t let this go. Just get out. Now. If I catch you in here again, don’t expect me to be so kind.”

Feliciano stared. “ _Kind_? My brother would think you’re harsh, and he gets angry at babies!’” He shook his head. “Please, Mr. Beilschmidt, I need this. I’m having a horrible month, can’t you just forget the law for one second? Please, I need one thing not against me right now.” 

“I don’t care if you’re having a hard time.” Ludwig saw the desolate disbelief form in Feliciano’s eyes. Ludwig felt a fresh welt of guilt split and sting. Maybe he was just cruel. 

“Yes you do,” Feliciano whispered. “I see it in your face.” Ludwig considered arguing, but he knew he had said plenty. “I know you’re just trying to do the right thing,” Feliciano added, sighing a shallow sigh. “I won’t keep coming here. Just tonight, please, that’s all I ask.” 

“No.” 

“Fine,” he whispered, his voice quaking again. “You win. Call the police. Send me off to prison.” He slumped down the wall, casting his eyes to the ceiling as if to consult something spelled out in the stars. “Maybe it’ll inspire me.” Ludwig crouched down next to him and Feliciano held up a hand. “Don’t say anything, please. Let me pay my respects.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“Paying respects to the dead. To myself. I wasn’t joking before, I’m dead dead dead, six feet under.” 

“Forget the police. You belong in an institution,” he muttered. Feliciano laughed under his breath, turning his cheek to the cold plaster and paint to smile at Ludwig. 

They had been this close before, but never in the absence of harsh torch-light, so it was only now Feliciano really saw his face. There was a sort of classical beauty about him, each curve and line of his features showing deliberacy and care from Prometheus. It was unsung art like Feliciano longed to create, stirring in his chest what he wished to bring onto canvas and paper. 

Feliciano blushed. 

“You take everything so literally,” he said, somewhat slow. “I know I’m not actually dead, but I feel like I am.” He waited for Ludwig to scoff, but he didn’t. 

“You’re trying to make me feel sorry for you,” Ludwig said. Feliciano watched through his fingers as Ludwig picked up his sketchbook, resting on the floor between them. 

“No,” Feliciano muttered. “I’m just lonely. I know you won’t.” He smiled, but it was melancholic.

“You won’t even tell me your name.” He watched Ludwig begin to flick through the pages. 

“Ludwig.” 

“Oh, no, is that horrible Beethoven sketch I did for my friend in there? He’s a composer—”

“No. My name is Ludwig.” Ludwig left his crouch to sit down beside Feliciano. “This looks good to me. I still feel like you’re lying.” Feliciano shook his head, casting his gaze upwards again to the nothingness and imagining wisdom there in the same way he contemplated the Mona Lisa. 

When he sat in front of that painting it was with a heart wracked with failure pangs and a longing for the paintings he could not create. He became tired sitting there, but not from lack of sleep, instead some altogether heavier exhaustion. 

“I hate my work, and it’s all I’ve ever loved.” Feliciano’s voice shivered with a tearful vibrato. 

“You’re too dramatic,” Ludwig said.

“Knew you’d say that,” he muttered. “Too dramatic. So _entitled_. So _annoying._ ” 

“I—P-perhaps I was harsher with you than I should have been, but I need to do my job, and I don’t approve of you behaving like you’re above the law,” Ludwig said. 

“If that was an apology, I’ll accept it,” he said. “And I’m glad you like my drawings, but I hate them. They don’t look anything like I want them to, they’re sloppy and don’t mean anything.” Feliciano leaned on his knees. “I guess I need a new job. I could teach art history, don’t you think I’d make a great professor?”

“No. I think you would do a poor job at anything intellectual,” Ludwig said. Feliciano laughed. There was a warm echo in the bleak gallery. 

“Really? After the phenomenal job I’ve done of sneaking in here?”

“You have a key and this is a huge building,” Ludwig said, flipping the sketchbook closed and setting it between them. “How did you get that, anyway? Do you have ties to the French government? Are you… Who are you?” his voice got sharp and Feliciano put his hands up in surrender. 

“My brother is a great pickpocket, a talent I’m sure you have so much appreciation for. Anyway, he swiped it off a janitor and got it copied. It was nice of him, but he only did it because he gets annoyed when I’m all thoughtful and sad. I’m pretty sure all my friends do. They say it’s not like me, which doesn’t make sense because I know best what’s like and unlike me.” 

“That would stand to reason,” Ludwig said. 

“Where was that attitude when I told you to trust me?”

“I would be out of my mind to trust you. You’re a criminal. You’re trespassing.”

“I’m dead, I can do what I want.” Ludwig huffed and shook his head. “I’m the most trustworthy stranger you’ll ever meet. Don’t get all exasperated and write me off, it’s so unfair. And don’t come back at me with _life’s not fair_ ,” he said, dropping his voice and mocking Ludwig’s accent. “I’m sure that’s what you were thinking of saying and I am not in the mood.” 

“Stop assuming what I would say,” Ludwig said. “And I do not sound like that.” 

“Well, you won’t talk, so I’ve got to be both of us in the conversation. But you definitely do sound like that. _I’m Ludwig Beilschmidt and I will not allow anyone to enjoy themselves in a 50 metre radius of me_.” Ludwig glared at him. “Ooh, scary,” Feliciano said. He thought Ludwig might have blushed before he looked away. 

“I’m trying to do my job properly, which I assume you’ve never had to do.” 

“Do you think I don’t put any effort into my work?” Feliciano asked. “I’m offended. So offended I would leave if I didn’t know it’s more offensive to you for me to stay.” He shook his head.

“I suppose.”

“Do you do a lot of supposing?” Feliciano asked.

“You said you were leaving.” 

“Just have some patience. Do you force ladies out of your house like this? So pushy.” Feliciano _tsk_ ed as Ludwig reddened further, the color faded monochrome. “Don’t act shy. I don’t believe for a second someone as handsome as you isn’t aware of it, unless, do you not have mirrors in your home?” Ludwig spluttered a moment, trying to get a sentence together. 

“My love life is the absolute furthest thing from your concern,” he said. Feliciano smiled and raised his eyebrows. 

“Who said anything about love?” he asked. “That was your own interpretation. Your _assumption_. You really have to rein those in.” Ludwig crossed his arms and stared at the opposite wall, but Feliciano didn’t prompt him for a response. He liked the silent company in the same embarrassed way Ludwig did. 

They stayed side by side for some time, silent and stranded in their turning minds, consulting with the night. Sinking into the perpetual feeling of waiting and wanting, though there was no defined answer as to what. 

“I don’t mean to bother you,” Feliciano finally said. 

“Let’s not talk,” Ludwig said. Then he got to his feet. “I should’ve had more coffee. Irresponsible of me to sit around like that.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I expect you gone in the next five minutes.” Feliciano sighed and nodded.

“Alright, sure thing,” he muttered, resting his chin on his knees. Ludwig made haste to turn away. 

He lurked at the entrance to the gallery, still wary of what Feliciano might do, but he stayed still, face tucked into his arms. 

It seemed improper to be here when he seemed so vulnerable. Should he let Feliciano know he was there? Cough or perhaps squeak a shoe. No, that would be a more egregious intrusion to this moment he didn’t belong in. Turning away, Ludwig wandered back into the dark hall, pretending to ignore the soft sniffling sound from behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments last chapter *:･ﾟ✧ Very sexy of you


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now - The Smiths](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQyqrlFOe5s%22)

Ludwig got a drink after his shift finished. Drinking beer in the most sequestered corner, Ludwig stared at the old World War One poster on the back wall, greasy-edged and present only because it refused any removal attempts. The surrounding smell of cigarettes reminded him of those bitter nights on the collapsing Eastern front when he looked at the clear sky. The only constellation he had ever been able to identify was Orion, and he felt a detached safety spotting those three stars.

Dawn crawled closer as Ludwig slowly made his way through his beer, the people around him drifting and shifting as the door swung on the wintry night. Rain tapped on the sidewalk and urged the wind to blow harder, bringing the scent of wet concrete and fallen leaves. 

When it opened with a particularly foul gust Ludwig turned over his shoulder, intent on glaring at whoever had let it in. 

For a split second Ludwig didn’t recognize him, never having seen him in natural light before, but it was Feliciano. The warm, brass-hued lamplight brought out the rose in his cheeks, his nose, the fingertips adjusting his watch. It called upon the brightness in his eyes when he smiled towards the bar, and all the russet in his hair. 

Previously he had seemed made for night, but he was not—he belonged to the rich sunlight and all the stars that burned hotter still. He _was_ the sun, and when Ludwig saw him he averted his gaze as he would at midday. 

“Felice!” Ludwig heard the bartender say. He rounded his shoulders and glared at the poster. Did everyone love this insipid incarnation of Helios? 

He watched Feliciano settle at the bar between two women and started speaking with them, laughing and gesticulating his hand. Arrested by curiosity, Ludwig went to get himself a second beer despite never allowing himself more than one drink. 

“Oh?” Feliciano was saying. “Yes, yes, I’m sorry he couldn’t come with me tonight. He’s never going to screw you, by the way, he’s got a girlfriend.” One of the women beside him sighed, dropping her cheek against her hand. 

“Well, I keep hoping,” she said, casting a morose look over his shoulder. “Or maybe he’s more my style.” After a moment Ludwig became aware she was speaking to him and felt his face redden, unable to escape before Feliciano saw him. 

“Ludwig! This Is the place I was telling you about, where we could get drinks, remember? Come sit with us! You seem like you could use a night out,” he added, raising his glass. Ludwig leaned on the bar, twisting his pointer finger between his thumb and index and pointedly ignoring him. There was an obvious twitch of confused hurt across Feliciano’s face, and Ludwig wished he had just stayed put. Or plain couldn’t speak a word. 

“Who are you?” snapped the woman to Feliciano’s left, putting an arm around his shoulders and squinting at Ludwig. 

“This is our good friend Ludwig,” Feliciano said to her. He sighed. “Well, I did it. I made an enemy, so I believe you owe me one thousand _francs_.” She slammed her fist down on the bar, complaining that she didn’t have enough. “Fine, but at least buy me a drink, this is big news!” 

“Fine,” she said. Ludwig turned away, horrified but unsurprised things had gone wrong so quickly. “Hey Fritzy!” she yelled, but he ignored her, forgoing another drink and instead retrieving his coat from the corner chair and hurrying outside. 

Feliciano watched Ludwig go with a sunken feeling in his chest, still stung by his abrasive expression and acerbic words. 

“You didn’t have to call him that,” Feliciano said, staring at the bar. 

“Why not?” she asked. “You’re too sweet on everyone, Feli.” She sighed. “We’re heading out soon, you want to come with us?” Feliciano shook his head. 

“Not tonight, sorry.” She huffed. 

“You always say that. Next time I’m just not going to invite you.” Feliciano didn’t answer. Not that it mattered; she was already whisking her sister away. Or maybe her cousin, Feliciano thought as he messed with the rim of his glass. He was too numb to his recent social staggers to be bothered. 

None of his friends meant to be cruel when they begged him to speak softer or plain less, but their words still fell as Ludwig’s had in a pale, fine dust on his thoughts. It clamored for his silence. Reminded him wholly that he was a separate entity to the self he recognized, even more than even his wanderings in the Louvre or Ludwig. The needle between his lungs spun in search for a magnetic pull that had come undone. 

Sadik wandered over to check on him. “Aw, Felice,” he muttered. “Do you want something else? On the house tonight.” Feliciano protested, but Sadik insisted. “Whatever you want, it’s free tonight.” Feliciano put his forehead in his hand.

“I don’t know. Could you make me something with amaretto, please?” Sadik nodded, and Feliciano watched him turn away. “I’m getting real sick of being sad, you know that?” he asked, leaning on his chin. Sadik nodded. 

“I’d think so, happy guy like you.” Feliciano traced patterns over the polished wood, watching the faint reflection of his fingers in the laquer. 

“I’m getting on everyone’s nerves. They don’t like me moody, unlike Lovino. I guess they find it charming when he does it, but not me. And I don’t want to ruin their day with my complaining, but I’m so upset, what else can I talk about?” Feliciano sigh. “You’re old and wise,” he said. “What should I do?” 

“I’m thirty-eight,” Sadik said, sliding him a drink across the bar.

“Yes, old and wise. Advice please.” Sadik considered. 

“Well… I don’t really know what to say. I bet everyone’s been giving you advice, yeah?” Feliciano nodded. Sadik knocked his knuckles on the bar, thinking. “I can’t imagine I could be more helpful than… actually, never mind, I’m your best hope. Maybe you should stop looking for an answer. Maybe you’ve just changed.” Feliciano shook his head vehemently. “No? Alright, but I still don’t think you’re going to get an answer that’s just not there. Let come what may.” 

Feliciano groaned. “No, that’s waiting, and waiting is _boring_. I’m impatient! You’re talking to a very impatient person, so I’d like your suggestion for us.”

“Alright, how about this? Follow that advice, but try and find yourself a hobby in the meantime. You can’t convince me you have absolutely no other interests. Anything you want to study but never got the chance?” Feliciano took another drink, eyes suddenly brightening. 

“I just remembered! Roderich’s going to Zürich in a week. I’m half-broke but if I do some chores or something for him he’ll probably buy me a ticket,” Feliciano said. “He keeps telling me I need to get out of Paris, why didn’t I just think about going with him?” Feliciano downed the rest of his glass. “I’ve got to catch him before he goes to bed. Thanks for the drink!” 

Sadik nodded and after a hurried goodbye, Feliciano rushed for the door. He hurried down the dark street back to the hostel, eventually forced to walk when he suffered a debilitating cramp half a block into the jog. Resolving to walk quickly, he tripped up the stairs just as Roderich opened the door to his music room.

Feliciano grinned. “It would be delightful,” Roderich began, “if people coming in at this hour sounded less like—”

“No time for your obscure musical references, as much as I adore them,” Feliciano cut in, brushing past Roderich into the room. Roderich shut the door quietly. “Remember you told me you’re going to Zürich?” He nodded. “I want to go. I’m happy to do any boring horrible things you don’t feel like doing in return for a ticket. We can share a room, make a fun weekend out of it.” Roderich blushed.

“Well, Feli, I… actually asked Erzsébet along with me.” Feliciano started to insist it was no trouble if she came too, but paused as Roderich shifted and blushed. “There’s a slight issue with that. I’m only telling you this because you’re quite close with her, and you’ll know if this is unwise, but…” Roderich glanced at the window. “I’m planning on proposing.” 

Feliciano gasped and put his hands to his mouth excitedly. Roderich shushed him. “Aw, Roderich, it’s a _fantastic_ idea! I’m so happy for you two!” Feliciano hugged him and Roderich stiffened but didn’t resist, straightening his shirt when he was released. “So was having to talk to your conductor all a ruse?” Roderich shook his head. “Aw, damn. That would’ve been more romantic, but I’m sure she doesn’t expect it.” 

“That’s an issue, though; I’ve been wondering if I should I hint at it. What if I catch her too off guard and she’s not ready to get married or plain doesn’t want to marry me and then she feels pressure to agree and only comes to her senses on our wedding day and leaves me at the altar—” Feliciano put a hand on Roderich’s arm, staunching his words. 

“Breathe,” he muttered. Roderich adjusted his glasses and drew a deep breath. “Don’t worry. She loves you, she’s going to say yes. And when you come back here I can tell you I told you so.” Roderich nodded and Feliciano let go. 

“Right. Otherwise, if you’re willing to do me a few favors I can buy you a ticket to Italy, or you could stay with João in Lisbon. It would cover hotel and meal costs.” 

“‘Favors’. Makes me sound like a whore,” Feliciano muttered. Roderich raised his eyebrows and shrugged ever so slightly. “Roderich! I am not a whore. Whores get paid. I do it for free, which means I’m a slut.” 

“Enjoy defending that title,” Roderich said.

“I’m not embarrassed. I think of it like… my body is less of a temple and more the Sistine Chapel: a coveted destination, often with too many people inside to enjoy.” 

“Oh dear,” Roderich muttered. “Anyways, there’s a letter I’ve been meaning to send to a friend of mine. I was going to deliver it to him in person, but frankly we have a bit of… turbid history. Our parting wasn’t amicable, and I fret he’ll bombard me with questions I don’t want to answer.” Feliciano gave an intrigued smile.

“Interesting. This isn’t the mystery man you dated during university, is it? You’re not worried you have feelings for him, right?” 

“Not at all. I love Bözsi, and I’ve never been more sure of anything all my life. My God, she makes me want to write sonnets, or serenades, whole symphonies, and I have, but it’s so difficult to finish them because they never feel worthy of her.” He reddened further and cleared his throat. “That was a cloying thing to say, it’s the exhaustion.

“Regardless, in all honesty I wouldn’t contact him at all, but… I looked after his younger brother for a time, and I feel somewhat fraternal for him. When I saw him last he was still injured from the war and absolutely miserable, and I’d like to know if he’s better.” Roderich turned to the piano and started scribbling on a piece of paper. “Here’s the address. I expect he’ll be available sometime after lunch.” 

“Gilbert Beilschmidt,” Feliciano read. “No! Is his little brother’s name Ludwig?” 

“If I recall correctly, yes.” 

“Roderich! Roderich, you’re sending me right to the Devil. Ludwig is that new guard at the Louvre, and he _hates_ me.” 

“Nobody hates you, Feli,” Roderich said. “You can’t be irritated with someone angry about you trespassing when they’re on duty.” 

“When I get back tomorrow with pitchfork marks on my ass then you’ll see.” 

“Fine. If you sustain pitchfork wounds I’ll swallow my words.” Feliciano frowned and leaned against the window while Roderich slipped into the neighboring room for the letter. He did like the idea of being entrusted with it, as if he were a spy. However he also dreaded seeing Ludwig again, as he had become the poster child for Feliciano’s boundless dissatisfaction.

Drawing the door closed, Feliciano slipped into the bathroom to get ready for bed. He wondered if it was only the pale lights that made him look so drawn and frankly nauseated. 

His bed was on the far end of the room, and he crossed the creaking floorboards as soft as possible, slipping under the blankets. Laying his hands on his stomach, he turned to face the window and Paris hidden beneath the curtains. Once the romance of the place might have been enough to save him, but not anymore. 

Feliciano pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. 

Someday things would change. They would be better. His father had always said so during the war, and he had been right. Those days had passed, it had ended, he was happy again. A happiness that had turned to content that had turned to this which had no name.

Even his nighttime wanderings did nothing anymore. They were an act, going through the motions of something that had once made him happy, or at least something more than disappointment. Nothing worked. Nothing helped. 

Not now, but maybe someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *One thousand francs in 1954 is roughly 17€ / $20 in today's money (probably)  
> **Bözsi is a nickname for Erzsébet


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [She Needs Him - Her's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sG3hXa1Kb8w)

After a hopeless stretch of staring at an unfinished piece, Feliciano gave in and left early for the Beilschmidt’s. The hall was flushed with daylight, the walls free of plaster cracks Feliciano had become so familiar with; a well-kept, respectable place. It was as if Ludwig lived in careful architecture of his own personality. 

Feliciano knocked and following a brief moment, the door swung inward to reveal the presumed Gilbert. There was something reminiscent of Ludwig’s face in his, but his hair was clearly neglected and there were more than a few razor nicks on his jaw. 

“Hello!” Feliciano said. “I’m Feliciano Vargas. Roderich Edelstein sent me by to give you a letter.” He offered a hand and Gilbert shook it. 

“Roderich? Sent… you?” he asked, prompting Feliciano to nod. “Uh, do you want some tea? Cause it’s… raining, so, you’re probably cold and whatnot.” 

“Sure, that sounds lovely,” Feliciano said, following Gilbert inside and passed him the letter. 

“Oh, my brother’s a night guard, so he’s sleeping,” Gilbert said, looking up from the letter. “We have to be quiet or I’ll get get killed in my sleep.” He went towards the stove and opened the envelope. “You can sit at the table,” Gilbert went on. Feliciano sat. The mention of fratricide did not incline him to believe in Roderich’s insistence of Ludwig being a ‘fine young man.’ 

A long stretch of silence passed as Gilbert read the letter. He scoffed a bit and muttered something in German before dropping it on the counter and put the kettle on. 

“Well, that was a whole lot of nothing,” he announced. “Since he didn’t mention it, how’s he doing? I only just found out he was in Paris.” 

“Excellent,” Feliciano said. “He’s going to Zürich with his girlfriend in a few hours, and he’s going to propose to her there! I’m so happy for them, I…” Feliciano trailed off, worrying he might seem cruel if Gilbert missed him. “So, Roderich told me you two went to university together?” 

Gilbert turned to lean on the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “In Vienna. I dropped out, but he was really into it. Classical specifically, all doting over Shostakovich and dying to meet him. American rock was more my style. You been there?” Feliciano inclined his head. “America. You dress like those Massachusetts guys.” Feliciano glanced at his outfit. 

“No, just like the look. It was in some magazine or other, I forget,” he said. “Anyhow, that’s funny, the classical and rock. _Two houses, both alike in dignity_.” He about kicked himself for the romantic allusion given their relationship had allegedly ended in displeasure for both parties. 

“Are you from Austria?” he asked. Gilbert shook his head. 

“Germany.” Feliciano nodded. “We lived in Berlin. Bernauer Straße, right on the edge of the East West divide, and things were getting a bit hairy so we got the hell out.” He paused to glance at the kettle. “Plus, the war was ten kilos of shit for my brother, so, I figured… you know, Paris might…” 

“He fought for the Germans?” Feliciano asked. Gilbert shifted but retained his focus on the stove. 

“He didn’t exactly have much of a decision. Wasn’t like they came up to our door with the attitude of ‘ah, you’re a healthy youth, perhaps you’d like to join the Wehrmacht? Hope to see you on the front this winter!’” Too uncomfortable to respond, Feliciano pretended to be utterly taken with his watch. 

“I didn’t fight,” he said before Gilbert could ask. “My family went to Lisbon in 38.” He risked a look at Gilbert. “Why didn’t you? You’re older, right?” 

“Yeah. I was eighteen when he got conscripted, but I was occupied with dying in the hospital because my immune system, as it often does, was trying to kill me,” Gilbert said. The kettle began to whistle and he turned the stove off. “He was so young, poor kid.” Gilbert sighed. “If you ever meet him, don’t talk about it.” 

“We’ve met, actually,” Feliciano said. “At his work. He likes to kick me out.” Gilbert brightened suddenly and turned around.

“Are you the infamous boring art thief?” 

“I’m not boring!” Feliciano yelled with indignance. “I’m not a thief either but I am first and foremost not boring.” 

“Yeah, that’s what Ludwig said. Goddamnit. Please tell me you at least have some hidden agenda? Are you from the Crown, trying to sabotage French pride?” Feliciano shook his head. Gilbert and slammed his fist on the counter. 

“Sorry to let you down,” he said with a light laugh. “I’ve never been to Berlin,” he added. 

“I miss it,” Gilbert said. “So does Luddy. He’s not having the best time right now.” 

Hearing Ludwig referred to as ‘Luddy’ was downright inappropriate. Feliciano struggled for several seconds to stomach the nickname while Gilbert poured water into two mugs, turning over his shoulder to ask what kind of tea he wanted. Feliciano shrugged and let him choose whatever. 

“So, what else is Roderich up to these days?” 

“Working on his symphony,” Feliciano said. “He’s incredible, I don’t have words.” Gilbert smiled and sat down across from him.

“Yup, that’s Roderich,” he said. “Glad to know he hasn’t changed one bit. What about his fiancée?” 

“She’s a dancer from Hungary,” Feliciano said. “It’s poetic, isn’t it? A musician and a dancer. She’s so talented, she’s won all sorts of awards from competing. And she loves him, so much, it gives me some hope.” Gilbert smiled at his tea. 

“Well, I’m glad he’s found someone good,” Gilbert said. “Man, did he know how to pick ‘em,” he added, taking a long drink of tea that definitely scorched his throat. “He’s a nice guy, though, underneath all that pissiness.” Feliciano nodded, stopped from speaking when a door opened behind them and Gilbert sat up.

“Ah, did we wake you up?” Gilbert asked. Feliciano flinched somewhat, knowing who had just opened that door. 

“Who is this?” Ludwig asked. Feliciano glanced over at him and gave an awkward wave. “Oh for hell’s sake. Are you possessing me now?” Ludwig glanced sideways at Feliciano’s confused expression. “Uhm. Ghosts.” Feliciano smiled. _My joke_ , he mouthed, but Ludwig ignored him. 

“Calm down Luddy, he’s just dropping off a letter.” Ludwig shook his head and stalked over the stove. “Don’t take it personally. He’s been very hard to befriend recently,” Gilbert said to Feliciano, who had already taken it so personally there was no degree to which he further could.

Ludwig glanced at the table again and bristled. “Where are my tickets?” he asked. “Gilbert, what did you do with my tickets?” Gilbert shook his head. “ _Sheiße_ , where did I put them?” Feliciano watched him hurry back into his room. 

“Tickets to Berlin,” Gilbert explained, standing up to get another cup of tea for Ludwig. “He’s looking at a flat in the West.” 

Ludwig poked his head out from his bedroom. “Why did you invite him in?” he hissed in German. 

“Uh, I don’t know. Maybe because he’s a vampire and would be stuck wandering the hallway otherwise? Bet you didn’t think of that.” 

“Would you stop trying to be funny?” 

“Would you stop being a jackass?” Gilbert winced. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to be friendly. And we shouldn’t be having this sidebar, it’s rude of us not to speak French.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry, you’re right.” He turned back to Feliciano who had resumed his careful watch inspection. “Yes, I’m going back to Berlin,” he said in French. “Enjoy ruining someone else’s career.” 

“I did not _ruin_ your career, good sir!” Feliciano said with exaggerated indignance. “My worst crime against you was mediocre conversation. And trespassing government property and continuing to ignore you asking me to leave because it was your job, but mostly the conversation part!” 

“I agree, your conversation was definitely more egregious.” 

“See? We’re agreeing,” Feliciano said. “Oh, I forgot! Roderich wanted me to ask you how you’ve been.” Ludwig’s expression softened a bit, inquisitive. “He was worried about you. He doesn’t worry about people that often, not outwardly anyway, which piqued my curiosity. How does he know you? I know he was w—friends with Gilbert, but I assume you weren’t at uni with them.” Ludwig shook his head. 

“He looked after Ludwig when our dad was sick,” Gilbert said. Ludwig frowned at him. “Ludwig, don’t be so uptight! He’s Rod’s friend, and if Rod sent him to interrogate you I bet they’re close,” he insisted, throwing an arm around Ludwig’s shoulders. Ludwig quickly extricated himself. 

“This isn’t an interrogation. He’d probably send our friend Antonio for that, since no one ever expects him,” Feliciano said. 

“Tell him I’m doing well,” he said. Feliciano nodded. “May I ask how he’s doing?” 

“Certainly! He’s doing great: about to get married and have one of his symphonies debuted in Vienna, which has been his main goal for years, so essentially everything is going swimmingly for him.” Feliciano thought Ludwig might have smiled, but it was more an enigma than Mona Lisa’s. 

“What is Berlin like, anyway?” Feliciano asked. Ludwig considered a moment before answering, allowing Gilbert reprieve from the conversation to reread the letter. 

Whatever he had wanted or expected was far from those seven empty, typed paragraphs. Simple statements, a vague idea about what he had been up to since graduating and moving to Paris. No mention of a girlfriend or his fabled symphony. 

_I would only ever write my letters to someone I care for so deeply. Anything else feels cheap._ Gilbert felt a subtle sting at the thought of that, but it was not the lingering pain of heartbreak. There were no undertones of romance or reconciliation. Yet deep down, Gilbert knew he didn’t want or expect that. 

But his future was made bleak by a detestable present of lackluster jobs, a withdrawn brother, and his father’s will. So with that bleak future and detestable present he reached for the past, hoping to grab a hold of something he could rearrange in the present to return his life to that spring after the war. Back in Vienna, with his friends, when there was someone to take his hand. Or further still, when Ludwig smiled and pretended not to laugh at Gilbert’s jokes. 

Gilbert took another sip of his tea, preoccupied by considering train schedules and the fact Ludwig was having a friendly conversation with someone. 

“Why don’t you see the city for yourself?” Gilbert asked. “You should take my ticket to Berlin and go with Lud.” Ludwig stared at him, and Feliciano quickly copied him.

“Um, I… I don’t really think…” Feliciano started. Ludwig was still staring at Gilbert. 

“I’ve been trying to tell you I can’t make the trip, but you’re always sleeping like the lazy man you are.” Feliciano laughed a bit. “See? He thinks I’m funny.” 

“You probably laugh at anything,” Ludwig said. 

“Maybe,” Feliciano said with a shrug. 

“Regardless, I’ve been meaning to tell you but I haven’t gotten the chance, and you know how busy I always am.” Ludwig squinted. “Come on! You guys get along great.” 

“We do?” Feliciano asked. 

“We don’t.”

“Well, I can’t go, and…” Gilbert stood up. “You know Feliciano, it was great having you, thanks for the comuniqué,” he said, shaking Feliciano’s hand. Feliciano stood up, bewildered at being escorted out but not protestesting. “Just, think about it. I’ll have my ticket sent round, I’ll use the return address on Rod’s letter.” Feliciano nodded, still disoriented as he stepped into the hall and said goodbye before Gilbert shut the door. He turned to face Ludwig, who was still vaguely horror-struck. 

“What the fuck? You’re never busy. Ever.” 

Gilbert glanced at the floor, still gripping the door handle. “You said, I mean, you might’ve had a good point the other day. The other day and all the days you tell me I need to lay off you and leave you alone and whatever, but… But I really don’t want you to go alone.”

Ludwig considered his answer while Gilbert took a shallow breath. No matter what Ludwig said, Gilbert hated leaving him alone even if he did seem a little better. Happier. More present. But he remained a distortion of himself, stoic to the idea of even acquaintanceship. 

“So you’re sending me with a stranger?” Ludwig said.

“I mean, I can’t make you, but you know I’d feel better if you did. Besides, who else was I going to ask? You never talk to any of your old friends, you certainly don’t have any here.” 

Ludwig sighed and rubbed the side of his face. “Fine. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” 

“Wait, Ludwig.” Gilbert started to follow him towards his room, but Ludwig stopped up short and turned to him. 

“I said I’m tired. Goodnight.” 

“Don’t you mean good…” Ludwig yanked the door shut. “Day?” Gilbert returned to the kitchen and slumped into his vacated chair, putting his face in his hands for several moments. Then he stood up, got his keys, and drove to the train station. 

He drove without a single cohesive thought in his head but thousands in disarray, so when he stopped in the car park and asked himself what he was doing, or thinking, he had no answer. Instead he slumped back the seat, still gripping the wheel and listening to the ancient engine run. 

What _was_ he thinking, coming here? That he might catch Roderich’s train to Zürich, and then what? Run into him in the dining car when he was accompanied by his soon-to-be-fiancée and ask him to coffee? 

What was he thinking leaving Ludwig alone or sending him to Germany with Feliciano? 

Gilbert gripped the wheel harder and pressed his forehead to it. He was trying to draw meaning from meaninglessness. A letter from his last real lover and a stranger his brother dared speak to seemed the enticement for change he had hurt for as the months dragged on. A sentiment for hope. 

Leaning his cheek on his hands, Gilbert closed his eyes and felt the familiar pain in his stomach throb dully. He wished Ludwig would talk to him, but now Gilbert knew Ludwig would never tell him anything, so if only he could answer _what happened_? Or _what do you need_? _How can I help you_?

He gripped the wheel harder still, unable to stop himself from remembering Ludwig limping on his injured leg into the living room of that apartment on Bernauer Straße. How he caught himself on a chair arm because he couldn’t breathe through his crying. Gilbert had been panicked into paralysis, stuck staring at him, thinking this was some drastic aftereffect of their argument earlier in the evening. 

_I have to go to the hospital._ Gilbert had still said nothing. Why, why did he have to go to the hospital? Had he hurt one of his old injuries? How? 

_Please, Gilbert, you have to take me to the hospital_. There was hysteria in his voice, enough to startle Gilbert out of his numbness. 

_What happened? What happened, Ludwig, what’s going on?_ Ludwig shook his head, only insisting he had to go to the hospital. He had to go now. Please please just take me to the hospital now, I need to go now. Why do you need to go now? Are you hurt? Dad’s painkillers. Take me to the hospital. I can’t drive. 

There was no reality in that moment as Gilbert struggled to understand what was happening. What Ludwig was saying through his shaky breaths.

Gilbert took his hands off the wheel and forced himself to breathe. Even now everything was a mess in his head. But he remembered when Ludwig had run into the room, and wishing Roderich was there, and how Ludwig had clung to him at the end of the night and never again. 

After forcing down a few more breaths, Gilbert drove back to their apartment. With some hesitation he pushed Ludwig’s door open and wandered into the room to settle beside him, staring at the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m trying my best, but I guess that doesn’t mean anything if it’s doing jack, huh?” Gilbert awkwardly put a hand on his shoulder, then readjusted his blanket. “Sleep well Lud, I’ll see you in the morning.” 

He stood up and went to turn the light off in the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until research for this fic led me to a weekend of combing strips and watching the anime to get his character right, I found the Gilbert hype incomprehensible, but now I'm staring to get it. And how could I not mention apparently Hetalia is coming back?? I imagine a Frankenstein's-monster-type reanimation and I feel somewhat overwhelmed to be honest 
> 
> Thanks again for reading ♥


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [40 Mark Strasse - The Shins](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grY7mPoje2A)

Just past ten in the evening Feliciano met Antonio and Lovino at Sadik’s bar, his coat dusted with the persistent, misty rain. Droplets bespeckled his lashes, creating small spots of haze he had to blink from his vision. With his vision clear, he caught sight of Antonio and Lovino sitting at the far end of the bar beneath another old army propaganda poster, speaking with Sadik. 

Feliciano hopped up onto the stool beside Antonio. “Hi,” he said brightly. “I’ll have a glass of Sangiovese, please.” Sadik nodded. “I decided to go,” he added. Antonio inclined his head. “To Berlin! With Ludwig,” he explained, ignoring Lovino’s titter of irritation. He had anticipated it, as the week before when he asked Lovino his advice about whether he should go, Lovino was well past violently opposed. 

“I had to decide, since we leave Tuesday,” he went on. “We’ve got a problem though: Ludwig hates me. No one’s ever hated me before, how am I supposed to act? How do I appeal to his good graces? That is, if he’s got any, he is kind of a prick. All I found about him is that he’s a night guard and he fought in the war.” 

Lovino gave his loudest titter yet and leaned forward. “You're out of your goddamn mind, Feliciano. You should be glad he despises you. He’s probably a Nazi.” Feliciano frowned. 

“We aren’t Fascists. Antonio’s not a Falangist.” 

“Yeah, that’s an easy claim because you know Antonio. You don’t know Ludwig. Who he is, or what he’s done.” Feliciano frowned further and turned to Antonio for support, but he gave an uncomfortable glance to Lovino. 

“I’m sorry, Feli, but I agree with Lovino. To a point, at least. You _don’t_ know him, and it’s not as if ex-party members are publicising their history, especially in Paris of all places.” Sadik gave a small nod, passing Feliciano his wine. “I understand you want to see good in others, but there’s some nuance in this instance and you need to be careful.” 

“You two are right, _however_ , if he were hiding he’s crazy to have chosen Paris, especially without Gallizicing his name,” Sadik said. “That dissuades me. If he escaped Nürnberg, why wouldn’t he weasel his way into the ratlines?” 

Lovino drummed his fingers on the bar. “They’re probably for the highest-profile dickwads. And I imagine it’s expensive hauling ass across the ocean.” 

“That’s true,” Sadik agreed. 

“He wasn’t _Waffen-SS_ ,” Feliciano said. Lovino set his wine down and leaned over Antonio’s arm.

“Doesn’t make him innocent,” Lovino said. “But I’ll play semantics. Let’s say he was never indoctrinated and is totally innocent. How do you explain his brother giving you a ticket for free?” Feliciano glared over Antonio, who was locking eyes with Sadik in a voiceless plea for help. Sadik wordlessly pulled Antonio’s glass towards him, filled it to the top, and passed it back. 

“Because I’m charming, adorable, and a wonderful conversationalist.” Lovino shook his head in return, finishing his second glass of wine and asking Sadik for another. “Easy, Lovi,” Feliciano said. Lovino told him to shut up.

Antonio cleared his throat. “He’ll be fine, Lovino,” he said in his uniquely reassuring tone. In most circumstances, that was the sole thing capable of pacifying Lovino, but now he scoffed and threw a hand up. 

“Unbelievable!” he yelled. “I really am the only one here with common sense. Feliciano, you don’t know this man. What’s more, he was a soldier and he hates your guts. What about that is appealing to you?” Feliciano started to answer, but Lovino cut him off. “Why do I bother anymore? I try looking out for you but you don’t fucking listen to anybody.” 

Feliciano looked away, hiding his face with his hair. Antonio laid a hand on his elbow and glanced sideways. “Lovino…” he started. 

“No, I won’t apologize,” Lovino said. “He doesn’t listen. I won’t have you two insinuate I’m the enemy because I don’t want my brother running around a foreign city with a questionable stranger.” Antonio tried to get a word out but Lovino spoke over him. “Yes, I’m well aware innocent Germans exist, but there are plenty more monsters, and I’m not a betting man.” He glanced at Feliciano, who studiously kept staring at the bar. Lovino slapped a few francs on it. “Thanks for the drink, Sadik. Have a good night.” 

Antonio sighed as he watched Lovino go. “I’m going to call it now too.” He sighed again, pulling his coat on. “Thanks again, Sadik. Take care of yourself, Feli.” With a nod at Sadik he patted Feliciano on the shoulder and left. 

“Not much patience with them,” Sadik said. “Anyhow, I think you should go, but be vigilant. Maybe look for a tattoo, if you catch him with his shirt off.” Feliciano raised his head. 

“Right,” he muttered. “I forget about those.” Feliciano faced the corner Ludwig had occupied a week or so previous, as if hoping he might be there, but Ludwig had not been back since then. 

Despite this avoidance, however, Ludwig caught himself searching for Feliciano’s figure among the statues or ends of galleries, perhaps scrutinizing a solitary painting. Sometimes he thought he heard footsteps or caught a hint of movement in his peripheral, but the museum went on echoing with emptiness. It let in that lonely chill Ludwig fought to resist. 

Ludwig kept his arms to his chest walking home. That loneliness never left him, hung on his already weak shoulders, forced him to curl close to himself and keep warm at night. He prayed for it to go, for even temporary absolution, but it could neither be abandoned or wished away. So instead he endured it like he endured the days until every moment was a test of his exhausted stamina. 

Through it all, he held out hope for returning home. It would have been more comfortable going alone than with Feliciano, but that would worry Gilbert, and he had worried enough for a lifetime. As Ludwig locked the door behind him, he stared at the patch of hardwood in front of his bedroom door where Gilbert had slept for several months when they first moved in. 

Ludwig turned to hang his coat up. Feliciano was bothersome, but Ludwig had the whole of Berlin to avoid him in. Besides, Feliciano had his own motivations for the trip, so maybe they would hardly speak at all. The thought gave Ludwig another pause. Another confused sense of disappointment. 

With a sigh, Ludwig walked over to the sink to wash his hands, meeting his eyes in the glass. His double hung above the backside of apartment buildings, the pale lights from curtained windows. After a year in the Wehrmacht, he felt he had become a good judge of character, so perhaps he subconsciously sensed Feliciano was earnest beneath the entitlement. But then again, he had been wrong before. 

_“Come on, don’t be such a pussy.”_

_“I’m not! I just… I feel sort of weird that you… you didn’t listen to me.”_

_“Ludwig, I would never ignore you. It's only the war, it’s messing with your head. It’s messing with mine too. Come here, I know the cook, I’ll have him get you seconds.”_

Ludwig caught his lip twitch. He cleared his throat and turned away, wishing he could sleep but knowing he needed to stay up to be awake for the train trip tomorrow. Trying to keep himself lucid, he took a frigid shower and then settled down to read, but his tiredness worsened. 

Gilbert came back from work whistling rather loudly and stopped when he noticed Ludwig asleep on the couch, holding one of the cushions to his chest. Gilbert stopped the felonious whistling and tossed a blanket over him, fearing death if he tried carrying him to his bed. A cursory glance of his room revealed his things were packed, so Gilbert opted to set Ludwig’s alarm clock for dinner and proceed with his evening. 

Ludwig ate with him but in a half-awake state, grateful to crawl into bed for the night. When he woke, he was shocked to smell coffee, as Gilbert was never awake before him if he didn’t have to be. 

“Good morning,” Ludwig said. 

“There’s coffee,” Gilbert said. Ludwig nodded and went over to the stove. “I’m sorry about telling you to go with that guy. I just, I thought you kind of got along with him and I figured you’re so fed up with me and you need a break, but you don’t have to go with him. I’ll come with you.” Ludwig shook his head, pouring himself some coffee. 

“No, I want to go with Feliciano.” 

“No you don’t,” Gilbert said.

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t want,” Ludwig said. Gilbert frowned as Ludwig finished his coffee. 

“Good luck to him,” Gilbert murmured. Ludwig glanced at him. “Look, you… it’s like every time I try to talk to you, and you basically tell me to go fuck myself.” 

“No one said you had to put up with me,” Ludwig said without raising his voice. “Nothing’s keeping you here.” Gilbert’s expression got incredulous, but he didn’t argue as Ludwig turned towards the door, hefting his suitcase. “You need to move on. I have.” 

“That is the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever heard in my life!” Gilbert yelled. “You’re miserable, you don’t have any friends, and all you do is work and be a dick to me!”

“I’m going to miss my train.” Gilbert frowned towards the table, gripping his coffee mug. Ludwig sighed. “I’ll be safe. I’ll say please and thank you. See you in two weeks.” Gilbert watched him open the door. 

“Wait, Ludwig,” he said. Ludwig raised his eyebrows as Gilbert hesitated. “Have a good time.” Ludwig nodded and left to catch a cab to the station. 

Feliciano was nowhere to be found on the platform, so Ludwig guessed he wasn’t coming after all. That meant he could finish his book in peace, he supposed. He settled in and was halfway through a chapter when Feliciano tripped in with flushed cheeks and an apparent flair for ruining Ludwig’s carefully curated peace. 

“Hi, Ludwig,” he breathed, lugging a large suitcase after him. 

“You cut it close,” Ludwig noted as Feliciano collapsed into the seat beside him. 

“Yeah, well, no reason to get here early and stew on the train,” Feliciano said. “Can I switch with you and sit by the window? Please?” Ludwig nodded begrudgingly and allowed Feliciano to switch seats with him. Feliciano dragged his luggage over to use as a makeshift table, resting his sketchbook and an erase atop it. He flipped to a blank page and rested his elbows on his knees, tapping his cheek with a pencil while consulting the scenery beyond the windows. It still felt improper seeing Feliciano outside the shadow Louvre. It was much easier to look at him in the darkness, when he was only the light on the moon. 

The train began to move, and a strand of sun fell across Feliciano’s cheek and onto his lap as the railways receded. As Feliciano shifted into a more upright position his knee pressed against Ludwig’s and he sighed quietly. Ludwig drew a low breath, inhaling the turpentine and oil paint and piquant cologne and orange-scented soap on Feliciano’s clothes. 

For several moments Feliciano watched the platform blur but he sensed Ludwig’s attention on him. “Yes?” he asked. Ludwig didn’t respond, instead taking out his book. “Hm. Are you really reading, or are you just making it so you don’t have to talk to me?” Ludwig glanced over the top of it. “Second one,” Feliciano guessed. 

“Amazing deduction, what ever could have led you to that conclusion?” 

“Well…” Feliciano glanced around them and then leaned towards Ludwig. “I’m _psychic_.” Ludwig felt the faintest edge of his breath on his neck. 

“Psychics aren’t real,” he snapped, voice pitched higher than was customary. “If you can predict behavior, it’s because your subconscious is good at picking up body language and tone you’ve seen before in other people. It’s science, not… vibrations and whatnot.” Feliciano smiled, bracing a hand on the suitcase as he considered Ludwig. His fingers were long and flecked with oils in orange and gold, a worn-down pencil nestled in the groove against his ring finger. There was no band on it. 

“If you think so,” Feliciano said. “But really, tell me if you don’t want to talk. I know I can be a bit much sometimes, even to my good friends.” Ludwig turned a page even though he hadn’t read it. 

“Good friends,” he mused, but shut his mouth before he said anything regretful. Instead he glared at a word on the page, trying to draw his focus to the letters and ignore Feliciano beside him. 

_Sehnsucht_. _S-e-h_. Feliciano pulled his knee away and shifted closer to the window. _N-s_. Feliciano rested his chin on his hand and sighed, casting his eyes down at the empty page. _N-s… N-s-u…_ But then Feliciano was looking at him. _C-h-t. C-h-t._

“Ludwig.” Now that Feliciano had addressed him, however, he faced the floor. “Ludwig, I know I shouldn’t ask this. I know. But please just tell me…” Feliciano pinched his eyes shut. “Gilbert said you were in the Wehrmacht, and… I…”

Ludwig dig his bitten-down nails into the book cover. “You think I’m a Nazi.” He dropped his voice low enough to slip into the undercurrent of chatter. 

“It's—” Feliciano started.

“I’m not,” he said. There was no harshness in his tone, but imploring. “I never was. If I were, I assure you I wouldn’t show my face.” Feliciano nodded, trying to meet his eyes, but Ludwig was squinting harder at his book. 

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I was never Fascist, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“It wasn’t unfair,” Ludwig said. Feliciano gave a half-shrug that Ludwig felt against his arm, pressed against him by the limited space and train’s gradual rocking. “You’re not about to draw me, are you?” he asked as Feliciano started sketching out a few lines. Feliciano brightened and laughed a bit. 

“No,” he said. “Did you want me to?” The tips of Ludwig’s ears reddened. 

“No, of course not! I had to ask you not to, for my privacy.” Feliciano nodded, but he smiled wider and tapped his pencil against the binding. “On the subject of your art. I’m, um, I’m sorry,” he forced out. “I was harsher than necessary with you in the Louvre, but you _were_ breaking the law and undermining me.” Feliciano sat back. 

“Aw, thank you. I’ll accept the apology, though I guess you deserve one too. I was being kind of entitled, but I’ve just been feeling so burnt out…” Ludwig held up his hand. 

“That was not an invitation to a heart-to-heart, please keep any and all emotional ramblings to yourself.” Feliciano laughed again.

“Noted,” he said, nudging Ludwig’s shoulder. “Although, anything is an invitation to a heart-to-heart with me.” Ludwig frowned at him. 

“How am I supposed to deal with you?” he muttered. Feliciano shrugged. 

“How do you want to, hmm?” 

“Alright, let’s not talk,” Ludwig decided. 

“Heard that one before,” Feliciano muttered, but he turned back to his sketchbook and they lapsed into silence, listening to the continued vague talk and sound of the train on the tracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The ratlines were Nazi / Fascist escape routes  
> **The tattoo Sadik tells Feliciano to look for is a reference to Waffen-SS blood type tattoos. They were in the armpit or upper left arm so the soldier would get the right type during a transfusion


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Heart is Buried in Venice - Ricky Montgomery](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aLGTwUtcefo)
> 
> A note on the upcoming references: Salacia was a nymph who hid from Neptune in the Atlantic Ocean / Fuseli - The Nightmare  
> ALSO IT'S TIME FOR ONLY. ONE. BED.

Feliciano and Ludwig got off the train just before eleven that night. A myriad of tired travelers occupied the platform, setting it abuzz with talk and breaks of laughter, a gentle melody over the outside rhythm of the city. Intent on avoiding being swept up in the commuters, Feliciano stayed close beside Ludwig, shivering at a breeze of the distant Spree. 

He struggled to keep up with Ludwig, who ignored his exhausted protests, too focused on staunching the yearning for the city whose familiar skyline had always meant home. Yet Ludwig paused at the station’s entrance, realizing the Berlin he had left was an extinguished parallel to the vibrance of this one; after years of a dead pulse, Ludwig had forgotten how the city lived and breathed with luminescence and vivacity. The chilly air, the sharp dark, brought memories of late December afternoons when he and Gilbert walked to the U-Bahn from the cinema under a tinge of neon signs. Had he understood then how happy he was? 

After a brief pause, Ludwig drew himself from his recollection and started down the sidewalk. Fatigued, Feliciano followed, realizing his sleepless weeks had finally decided to catch up with him. He was opposed to such cold in October and relieved to arrive at the hotel, a cramped building beside an eyeglass shop. Inside the lingering smell of tobacco and stale gasoline made Feliciano wince, but the polished wood and pleasant lighting gave a welcome impression. Feliciano leaned on the desk and studied a painting of the Danube on the opposite wall while Ludwig checked them in. 

“Room 20, is that right?” the receptionist asked. “Single, eleven nights?” Ludwig stiffened. A single room. He had forgotten to switch the reservation. Could he even afford it? Doubtful, but sharing a bed with Feliciano was an idea cut with so many facets of horror he struggled conceiving it. 

“Yes, that’s right, but I’ve had a slight change of plans. How much would a double be?” Ludwig asked. She gave him the price. Ludwig blanched. “Room 20 is lovely, thank you,” he said, collecting the key. “Come on, Feliciano,” he added, starting towards the stairs with Feliciano in exhausted tow. 

When Ludwig unlocked the door Feliciano dropped his suitcase and threw himself across the bed. The extremely narrow bed. Ludwig dropped the key on the scrubbed desk. 

“At least change first. You’ll get the train bacteria on the hotel bacteria and then we’ll both be sick,” Ludwig warned, switching a lamp on. 

“I’m tired,” Feliciano complained. 

“I don’t want to get sick. This isn’t a vacation for me, it’s business, and if I’ve got a fever it’ll slow me down.” Feliciano groaned but stood, fishing clothes from his suitcase and slipping past Ludwig into the bathroom. 

Ludwig drew the curtains back, watching trundling cars pass on the street below, their soft rush muffled but audible. He studied the squares of light in apartments or hotels and the flickers of movement within them, all the little lives contained in fractions of a split city. 

It had been nearly four years since Gilbert had moved them to Paris, an impulsive and desperate decision that drained their inheritance. While Ludwig tried to appreciate what Gilbert had done for him, Paris became a limbo where he had been needlessly damned, stuck trying to decide a path for an unimaginable future. 

Perhaps that explained why returning to Berlin seemed so novel to him, and why Feliciano’s presence was so intrusive. Ludwig sought to enjoy his reunion, not be preoccupied with this stranger, this incarnation of the sun that had struck Icarus to the demons down under the sea. Then again, already he lay deeper in the depths than Salacia, stranded in the wreckage of his ruined wings. 

Distantly he heard the door open as Feliciano emerged from the bathroom and collapsed on the bed, sighing in contentment. Before closing the curtains Ludwig deliberated over Feliciano’s reflection in the dark glass, lit like a Carvaggio but posed for Fuseli. There were more spots of oil paint under the crescents of his nails. 

“It feels amazing to lay down,” Feliciano murmured. “Aren’t you tired? Or… well, you’re probably used to being up all night.” Ludwig nodded. “Well, I’m going to sleep,” Feliciano announced, freeing the coverlet and curling under the thin blankets. Ludwig nodded, turning to his suitcase for a change of clothes. 

Feliciano had turned the light off when Ludwig reentered the room, but he had vacated the bed to stand beside the window, peering through the curtains. The city’s midnight brilliance drained the color from his face, reverting his appearance to that of the lonely eidolon beneath Eros’s wing. 

“It’s different from Paris,” Feliciano said. 

“Of course it is.” Ludwig set his clothes back on his suitcase, unable to help himself from watching Feliciano’s expression. “Is this an attempt at being profound?” Feliciano raised his eyes and met Ludwig’s. 

“No. Just making an observation,” Feliciano conceded, turning to lay back down. Ludwig laid down beside him. As much as he resisted agreeing with Feliciano, Ludwig understood his sentiment; he missed Berlin with such ferocity precisely because Paris seemed an antithesis, despite Ludwig having no explanation as to exactly why. 

Feliciano rolled over. “How do you sleep like that?” he asked, noting Ludwig’s rigid posture. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?” 

“Not to me,” Ludwig lied. Feliciano shrugged, tucking a hand underneath his cheek. 

“I’ve never seen your hair down. It’s longer than I thought it would be.” Ludwig kept staring at the ceiling. “Alright, alright, _gute nacht_ ,” he said. “Oh, right! I don’t know any German except that and _guten tag_ and _du bist eine Schlampe_ so I’m going to need your help.” 

Ludwig smothered his groan with his hands. 

“Sorry! I won’t ask for too much, I promise. Well, I probably will, but sorry ahead of time if I do.” Ludwig lowered his hands and faced Feliciano, too tired to be properly baleful. “You’re the best, thanks, Ludwig.”

With that, Feliciano rolled over and snuggled down into the blanket. Ludwig turned opposite, his heart pounding too hard for him to sleep. Closing his eyes, Ludwig took a few low, deep breaths, trying to bring his heart rate down. This tactic had almost proved successful when a Feliciano turned over, all too close to him. 

Ludwig glared over his shoulder. Feliciano’s eyes were closed. He must be half-asleep, if not asleep altogether. However he still snapped, “don’t touch me.” Feliciano’s eyelids fluttered.

“Whoops.” He shifted back a few centimeters. Ludwig curled his hands to his chest, keeping a vigil on the wall until he began to see patterns on the paint. “I’m sorry, really. I hope it didn’t ruin our chances at friendship,” Feliciano muttered into the pillow, voice slurred with fatigue. 

“I figured I’d made it abundantly clear I’m not interested in making friends at the current moment.” 

“Hm. Do you have a specific block of time for it?” Feliciano asked. Ludwig leaned on his elbow to face Feliciano, who blinked up at him with his cheek against his shoulder. “What’s that look for? It’s only a question.”

“I’m trying to sleep. But let me rephrase that: I’m not looking to make friends with _you_ at the current moment.” Feliciano pinched his eyes shut. 

“Hm.” He sighed. “What about… could you pencil me in on Tuesday?” 

“My schedule’s full,” Ludwig grumbled. 

“After hours too? Or are those already reserved for someone?” Feliciano smiled a bit. Ludwig smothered his own urge to do so. The trip and sleep deprivation were getting to him. 

“You never stop talking, do you?” Ludwig asked. Now Feliciano outright grinned. 

“Sometimes.” 

“Forget it. Just go to sleep and stop the words from coming out, please,” Ludwig begged. Feliciano laughed and bade him goodnight. Ludwig exhaled and returned his focus to the wall. He told himself the oddness he felt would dissipate in the morning, but when he woke just before sunrise it lingered in his stomach. Perhaps it was his body upset by his sudden breach of consistency. 

Feliciano, on the other hand, woke well-rested to the smell of coffee and cold, buried in a nest of blankets. He saw Ludwig sitting at the desk drinking a coffee, already dressed with his hair back. He considered sitting up, but instead rolled over and tucked his face into the blanket. 

“You’re awake,” Ludwig noticed.

“Maybe,” Feliciano mumbled. 

“I got you coffee. Espresso.” Feliciano shook his head.

“Of course,” he muttered. After another moment of sanctity in the still-warm blankets, Feliciano sat up and stretched with a low groan Ludwig did not appreciate. He leaned forward to take the coffee Ludwig offered to him, giving it a sniff and wincing. 

“Not even a little milk?” he asked. “I’d think you figure I can’t handle this much caffeine.” 

“I’m well on my way,” Ludwig said. 

“A dangerous decision, letting me have this much,” Feliciano said. Ludwig paused and a distant horror overtook his apathy. “It makes my heart beat so fast and I get all freaked out and can’t sit still. Next time you’d be safer with a cappuccino, but I appreciate it regardless.” 

“It was two marks,” Ludwig said. 

“Must we talk about money before I’ve had my coffee?” Feliciano asked. Ludwig missed the levity. 

“It’s _two_ ,” he said, exasperated. “That’s cheap.” Feliciano sighed, tossing the blanket back and getting up to locate his wallet. “You don’t have to pay me now.”

“Already got up,” Feliciano said. “I’m freezing,” he added, rooting through his wallet for the money. 

“It’s thirteen, it’s not that cold.” 

“Oh, Ludwig, do you have to disagree with everything I say?” he asked, dropping the marks onto the desk. “If I told you fish were birds would you still argue? Go on a tirade about Darwinism and how technically yes, fish are birds, just because you can’t stand me so much? Ugh, I bet you would make a really good argument though, and that’s making me all types of upset.” 

Ludwig swirled the dregs of his coffee. “I don’t disagree with everything you say.”

“Ha, just did it again.” Ludwig frowned. 

“Fine, I did,” he said. “And while fish and birds would have had a common ancestor very distantly, I wouldn’t make the claim that fish _are_ birds because…” Ludwig trailed off at the sight of Feliciano smirking into his cup. “I wasn’t disagreeing, I was correcting you because you were wrong,” Ludwig insisted, blushing. 

Feliciano sat down on the end of the bed, smoothing the rumpled covers. “So what am I not wrong about?” he asked. Ludwig shrugged. 

“How am I to know? Probably painting. I can’t imagine you’ve got extensive knowledge in much else based on… almost everything about you.” Feliciano raised his eyebrows, and Ludwig caught genuine affront in his face. 

“Excuse me, sir, are you calling me stupid?” Feliciano asked. Ludwig sipped his coffee, sheepish and wishing he had kept his mouth shut. “I’m not an idiot. Uh, most of the time, anyway, so screw off with that _I don’t have extensive knowledge in anything else_. I’m exceptional in th arts, language, gastronomy, sex… I’m a man of many talents, don’t get it wrong.” Ludwig reddened a bit more, apologizing under his breath. Feliciano didn’t respond, instead pinched his nose and downed the rest of his coffee. 

“Eugh. Disgusting. But! Now I’m energized and ready to go house hunting.”

Ludwig considered him. “What makes you think I’m going to let you come with me?” 

“Because choosing an apartment is a big decision you shouldn’t make alone. Someone as smart as you should know that.” Ludwig nodded. “And yeah, I know, you don’t want me to go with you because I’m stupid and you can’t stand me—”

“Would you quit guessing at what I say?” Ludwig snapped. “It’s things like that that make it so hard for me to stand you. You’re right, it’s better to have someone with me. Get dressed and we’ll go.” 

“Great! I can tell you my thoughts.” 

“Is there ever a time you’ve refrained from telling me them?” Ludwig asked. 

“Um, yes? Of course? Do you think I go around telling people everything that’s going on in my head all the time?” 

“Christ, if that’s not everything, I can’t even imagine what being inside your head is like.”

“Well, you never will, because you killed psychics like Nietzsche killed God.” Feliciano patted him on the arm and went to get dressed. 

Ludwig checked his watch, then considered making the bed. Pale sunlight fell across the mussed covers, and something about the cream-colored linens in the morning reminded him of his grandparents’ cottage outside Innsbruck. Its patio where Roderich had sat with him a lifetime ago on those perfect spring days when the breeze was gentle, when the air was scented with warmth and the end of winter. Another gilded memory Ludwig had not appreciated enough. 

If not for being occupied with memories of Innsbruck, Ludwig would have noticed how long Feliciano was taking to get dressed. When he did, he knocked on the bathroom door.

“Do you need fifteen minutes to get dressed?” 

“Preferably twenty-five,” Feliciano called back. “But I understand I’ve got to cut that down or you’ll throw me into oncoming traffic.” Feliciano left the bathroom and grabbed his coat, tagging after Ludwig into the hall. 

Outside it wasn’t raining, but the wind was bitter and smelled of the damp leaves stuck to the pavement. Feliciano dug his hands into his pockets, eyes grazing over distant buildings mottled from the raids, blackened and skeletal. Shattered windows replaced by pitch maws. They resisted even this pewter daylight, giving them a distinct feel of cold and surreality. 

Two American soldiers passed them, half-shouting as they spoke. When they noticed Feliciano looking at them they smiled and offered a wave. Feliciano smiled back, checking Ludwig’s reaction. As predicted, he ignored them, probably affronted at their audacity to speak at such a decibel with him in their vicinity. Feliciano wondered if their presence irritated him. If all the foreign occupiers bothered him. Perhaps he was plain indifferent, but he certainly didn’t seem to like them. Then again, he didn’t seem to like anybody. 

“Gilbert said you lived in the East,” Feliciano started. Ludwig nodded. “What’s it like?” 

“Fine,” Ludwig said. Feliciano scoffed at his lackluster description. “Well, I wasn’t all that attuned to my surroundings back then. I was, I was in a bad way. I only really remember the blockade and learning Russian, but really, not much.” Feliciano had difficulty believing Ludwig managed to forget years of his life, but decided this was a poor attempt at lying. 

“What do you mean, ‘in a bad way?’” Feliciano asked. Ludwig responded with his now-typical and studious disregard. “So… so you speak Russian?” Feliciano tried instead. 

“Not anything useful,” Ludwig said. “I was only in school for a year after the war. Since I was eighteen, I chose to get a job at a factory.” Ludwig paused at the next corner, checking the address in his notebook. “Gilbert was in the Youth Socialist Party but I didn’t want anything to do with parties after the war. That’s not unique to me, and I assume you’d understand after what happened with Mussolini.” 

Feliciano nodded. “They purged after the war, of course, but it seemed a little clumsy and carried away at times. Even so, I can’t imagine they were anything like the ones here.”

“Doubtful,” Ludwig agreed. 

“Anyway, they’re still trying to pull a government together now. It’s a bit of a mess, but I do miss Italy. I haven’t been back for a long time.” 

“Yeah, I know what that’s like,” Ludwig said. “This is my first time back in Germany after four years.” Feliciano stopped up short. 

“Really? No wonder you’re so pissed I’m here! I’m ruining your sacred return to trip! Why didn’t you say something?” Ludwig was surprised Feliciano had reached the conclusion of his own thinking. 

“I assumed you wouldn’t listen,” Ludwig said. “You haven’t in the past.” 

“Well, that’s the past,” Feliciano insisted. “We should get a celebratory dinner. I’ll pay as long as you’re gentle on my wallet. As you know, those two marks earlier were a lot.” 

“A-are you joking?” Ludwig asked. 

“Ludwig, you’re hilarious. Thinking I would make a joke. Do I really seem like someone who makes jokes?” Ludwig decided not to answer. He shouldn’t be disclosing personal information and getting friendly with Feliciano. After all, there was no room for anyone else at the ocean floor, not even his brother, not Roderich. 

How quickly Daedalus’s genius fermented in the salt of the sea around him, around him at the seafloor, where he was immobile under the waves and heavens. Yet he struggled to regret his fall; to feel the sun on his face, even if only for a breath, it sanctified this stillness. And if he dared regret, if he stopped dreaming of the sun, Ludwig would remember he was drowning. 

Drowning. Left with a fall-fractured heart that beat only because it could not stop of its own accord, and as much as Ludwig hailed himself as hardwearing, he could never survive knowing that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Achilles Come Down - Gang Of Youths](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_V76Dm42bY)
> 
> Another mythology note: Phaethon was Helios (or Phoebus / Apollo)'s son and to prove he was, he asked his father to let him drive the sun chariot. Helios had promised to say yes to whatever Phaethon asked, so he agreed, but it Phaethon lost control and ended up dead, and there are versions of the myth where his tears turned to amber. I didn't mean for this fic to become Phaethon / Icarus fanfic but I refuse to fight it

The rain began in late afternoon, first as specks on the pavement, then a tender tapping along the roof. It reanimated the autumn chill as Ludwig and Feliciano walked down the apartment steps, seeking refuge beneath a bookstore overhang. Feliciano watched the water drop from the awning and blurred headlights dazzling the rainy haze, absently hearing the rustle of Ludwig flicking through his notebook and scribbling away. 

Feliciano stood on tiptoe to try and read Ludwig’s writing. “What’s that say?” he asked. 

“Just that I like the location,” Ludwig said, speaking in a tone that implied Feliciano had asked if it might be raining. 

“It seems like it, but you should keep in mind there was a rat in the closet. A possible rat, anyway,” Feliciano said. “You better write rat in underlined capitals.” 

“You did specify a possible rat, which leaves room for ambiguity,” Ludwig said. Feliciano spluttered. 

“A possible rat is still concerning!” he said. “Write rat.” Ludwig shook his head, tucking the notebook back into his breast pocket. “Ludwig. Ludwig you can’t buy the rat house. Tell me you won’t. Promise me.” 

“No, I’m not,” Ludwig snapped. Feliciano frowned, hurt by this underserved animosity. He leaned against the brick and eyed the interior of the bookstore, trying to make out cramped titles on the spines as Ludwig pulled his sleeve back to check his watch, giving Feliciano a cursory glance. The rain had dampened his hair and it curled around his ears, stringy in front of his downcasted, weary eyes. Helios shouldn’t seem so hopeless. Rather Phaethon, failed by his own insistence to reach the sun.

“Are you… doing alright?” Ludwig muttered.

“I’m fine,” Feliciano said without looking at him. Ludwig picked at his thumb. 

“I didn’t mean to be short with you. I… I’m easily irritable.”

“You always say that,” Feliciano muttered. “‘I didn’t mean it.’ But you yell at me no matter what I say, even when— _especially_ when—I’m trying to be nice to you. I don’t know why I bother.” Feliciano sighed. Ludwig stared at the ground, watching Feliciano’s shoes as he turned to walk away. 

“Wait, Feliciano, please,” Ludwig insisted. “I… You’re right. I’ve been needlessly cruel to you, and I’m sorry. Truly, I’m sorry, and I know I’ve said that about fifty times…” Feliciano inclined his head, “but, sincerely, I apologize.” Ludwig offered a hand. Feliciano laughed under his breath but reached to shake it. 

“Apology accepted,” Feliciano said. “ _If_ ,” he squeezed Ludwig’s hand and yanked him closer, “you meant it.” Ludwig breathed a surprised exhale and nodded. Feliciano smiled, shook his hand once, and let go. “Let’s get out of the rain. We should get lunch! I’m _starving_ , I can’t believe you made me go through a day without food. I might faint, so be prepared,” he added. 

“Noted. I’m not that familiar with the area, so I suppose we’ll have to walk around until we find something,” Ludwig said. He huffed when Feliciano groaned and leaned against the wall. “You’ll survive, quit being so dramatic.” 

“I really am dying.” 

“I thought you already were? Wasn’t that your whole shtick?” Ludwig muttered. 

“Oh my. Touché.” Feliciano stood up straighter. “Lead the way,” he added, and they abandoned the safety of the awning. Though the walk was only two blocks, it felt exhaustive in the miserable drizzle, especially when it turned out there was a queue to endure. Feliciano stood in front of Ludwig to be shielded from the wind, squinting at the handwritten menu in the window before remembering he wouldn’t be able to read it. 

Beside the counter was a crate of newspapers, soaked from the unsavory weather. Feliciano studied the bolded headline and photo on the front page while Ludwig smothered his irritation towards the indecisive group ahead of them. 

“What do you want?” Ludwig asked. “Your options are all bratwurst served in varying ways.” 

“You order for me,” Feliciano said. Ludwig nodded, relieved when the other got their food and headed off. He ordered them some cheap currywurst and directed Feliciano to a sitting area next door, open to the street but comfortable from a rather old space heater tucked into the corner, its chipping teal paint half-clashing and half-complimenting the wooden walls and homely halogen lights. They sat as near to it as possible, listening to the city go on around them.

“You were getting so impatient in that line,” Feliciano said. “I bet you’d like the bars in Rome. No queue, just a civil battle to the front.”

“That’s horrific,” Ludwig said. 

“Harsh, but I guess that's your style. Besides, how do you know you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it?” 

“Comparable past experience.”

“I guess,” Feliciano said. “Ugh, this is making me miss home,” he added, picking at the edge of his napkin. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t moved around so much. Just stayed in Italy, in Rome, but things became such a mess.” When Ludwig nodded, Feliciano chanced meeting his gaze, noticing the charming rose at the tip of his nose and cheeks from the bitter wind. 

“Can I ask you something?” Feliciano asked. “Oh, wait. Let me clarify: if I ask you something, will you answer?” 

“I suppose,” Ludwig murmured. “What’s your question?” 

“What was Berlin like, during the war?” Ludwig tapped his fork on his plate, considering. 

“Well, I don’t really know. I was at my grandparents’ cottage in Austria for a majority of it, because of the raids.” Ludwig exhaled. “And before the war, I was too young to really understand anything. I didn’t pay attention, but I… Looking back, I expect I learned to be afraid from my parents.” Ludwig fixed his eyes on the space heater. “I certainly grew up feeling… feeling like every awful thing was imminent. Sometimes it seemed like hoping was a superstition. I had this, this constant weight on my mind, so constant I forgot about it. 

“The city went dark. My father didn’t want me or Gilbert going certain places, or giving certain people money. Party members,” Ludwig added. “I asked him what was happening. Were we going to war. Were we going to be okay. Was anything at all going to be okay. Of course he didn’t know; nothing like this had ever happened before.” Ludwig exhaled again. “It scared me. I was a kid, and suddenly there was danger beyond what my parents could control.” 

“I understand,” Feliciano murmured. “I was thirteen when we left Italy. Of course I didn’t want to, and I asked how long we’d be gone and my dad couldn’t tell me. My brother couldn’t either, and he pushes me around like you can’t believe, but back then I thought he knew everything I didn’t.” 

They ate in silence for a while, swapping scrutiny of the street. Eventually Feliciano finished and reached in his coat pocket for a pencil and several folded pieces of paper. “In case inspiration struck,” Feliciano explained with a smile. He tapped his pencil on the table’s edge. “You’re going to get so mad at me,” he warned. Ludwig raised an eyebrow. “Could I draw you? You’ve got such a personable nose, I love it.” He laughed at Ludwig’s shocked expression.

“Uh… I, I, that’s…” Ludwig began. 

“I’ll give you the drawing,” Feliciano said. Following another brief hesitation, Ludwig conceded. “Though, really, I think sculpture would be better for a face like yours,” Feliciano murmured. Ludwig blushed down to his neck. The way Feliciano studied him was tangible, and Ludwig’s skin prickled as if it truly were Feliciano’s fingertips grazing his lower lip, resting at the sensitive corner of his mouth, along the curve of his throat, down the arc of his jaw. 

Feliciano leaned closer. Ludwig smelled his cologne. It still smelled fantastic because he wasn’t accustomed to it, not that he was accustomed to anything about Feliciano. Not even the stubborn remnants of paint on his index finger with no ring: he wasn’t married, not that it mattered, and Ludwig shouldn’t make assumptions, or stare, why was he staring, he needed to stop staring, staring at his mouth, letting his thoughts drift, drift until from nothing and nowhere came the thought to kiss him. Only an idea, appalling, he would never act on it, he didn’t want to, but he could, he could act on that idea, could kiss him— 

“Oh!” Feliciano said suddenly, snapping and interrupting Ludwig’s internal crisis. Ludwig raised his eyebrows. “Your nose reminds of that statue of Antinous in Delphi.” 

“What?” Ludwig breathed. “Oh. You mean Hadrian’s Antinous?” Feliciano paused sketching and nodded. “I’m a bit of a fanatic about Ancient Rome,” Ludwig explained, smiling slightly. “I’ve always wanted to visit Rome to see the Colosseum and go to the museums. I studied Latin when I was young, but I’ve about forgotten it all now.” 

Feliciano grinned. “Well, you can ask me anything about Rome. My dad’s a Roman history professor, kind of famous in Italy because he wrote all these books. I was kind of forced to like it,” he added. “Not that I don’t. I especially love reading about how average people lived, how they saw the world…” 

“Yes!” Ludwig said. “And the politics, too,” he went on. “Though, maybe you’re bored by politics.” 

“Who do you think I am that I would be bored by Roman politics?” Feliciano asked. “I’m _outraged_. That’s one of my favorite parts, though not really Hadrian, since I was never much of a Hellenist. But, for the sake of this conversation, there were other parts of his story that interested me.” 

“For the sake of this conversation?” Ludwig repeated. He leaned forward more. “...Antinous?” 

“More statues of Antinous than the gods,” Feliciano said, lowering his voice. “Anyhow, what got you interested in Roman history?” Feliciano asked.

“When I was younger I read several books about the Roman Empire by this Italian author, maybe you’ve heard of him? Romulus Vargas?” 

Feliciano laughed. “ _Have I heard of him_?” he asked. 

“Ah, so you have,” Ludwig said, clasping his hands. “I loved his writing. Hell, I almost learned Italian to read the untranslated version. The diagrams and artwork were all his as well, and they were just… Why are you still laughing? Excuse me for not knowing how obviously well-known he is in Italy, I’ve never stepped foot in the country.” 

“No, that’s not it,” Feliciano said. “Romulus Vargas is my dad!” Ludwig opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again. 

“I’m sorry what?” Ludwig asked. “I have incredibly poor hearing in my right ear, so sometimes I mishear things,” he added, gesturing. 

“He’s my dad,” Feliciano repeated. “Did you really read his books when you were a kid? Ludwig! That is _adorable_. I have to tell him, he’ll think it’s so cute.” Ludwig shook his head.

“ _Do not_.” 

“Aw, you’re so red,” Feliciano said. “Don’t be shy, he loves talking to people who like his writing.” 

“The fact that you’re his son singlehandedly undid every perception of him I had. I mean, he did raise you, right? Allegedly…?” Ludwig waited for a contradiction, but Feliciano nodded. Ludwig put a hand over his mouth. “Jesus Christ almighty.” 

Feliciano raised his eyebrows. “Okay Ludwig, you’ll survive. Quit being so dramatic.” Feliciano met Ludwig’s eye, smirking a bit. Ludwig folded his hands and inclined his head. 

“Quite the comedian, are you?” 

“Quite,” Feliciano replied, resting his chin on his hand. Ludwig considered his reply, chancing an offhand look at his watch. He gripped the face and sat upright. 

“Shit. I’m supposed to be at the next apartment in twenty minutes and we’re a half hour away.” He frowned and looked at Feliciano. “I hope you can run,” he added, jumping up. Feliciano shoved the papers in his inside coat pocket alongside his camera, hurriedly doing the buttons. “No time for that! I can’t be late!” Ludwig insisted. Feliciano sighed, breaking into a pitiful little jog after him, winded after a meter but afraid of falling behind and being stranded in Berlin alone. 

They ended up arriving six minutes late, according to a hardly winded Ludwig. “Ach, are you serious?” Ludwig asked at the sight of the wheezing, red-faced Feliciano. 

“Sweet mother of mercy,” Feliciano gasped, clutching his side and listing on the wall beside them. Ludwig ignored him and checked his watch again. “I’m going to vomit, if I don’t die first.” He did the sign of the cross with his free hand and started praying under his breath. 

“He’s never going to give me the place now,” Ludwig said. “He’s a friend of Gilbert’s, and Gilbert told him I was responsible, but here I am showing up six minutes late.” 

“Are _you_ serious?” Feliciano gasped in between begging absolution from the heavens. “You’re out of your mind. If you must, tell him it was all my fault. Or maybe _he’s_ late,” he added. “That him?” He nodded at a man wandering up from his car, and Ludwig flattened his skewed hair and stood up a bit straighter. Ludwig asked him something in German, and at his tired nod turned back to Feliciano. 

“It is,” he said, somewhat tight lipped. 

“See?” Feliciano asked. “Don’t worry so much.” Patting the back of Ludwig’s arm, Feliciano followed the landlord inside. Ludwig tagged after him, devolving into what Feliciano guessed were a string of apologies. 

Feliciano quickly bored of faking German comprehension and decided to sit at the kitchen table, stewing in the upset over his sodden clothes. Ludwig and the landlord were a room away, but he felt entirely alone, watching the rain come down though the opposite window. A subtle shiver crawled under his skin at the sudden recognition of loneliness. 

The hardwood creaked behind him as Ludwig emerged from the bedroom. “Feliciano?” He turned his head. “We’re going.” Feliciano nodded, thanking the landlord before following Ludwig out. “No rat,” Ludwig said. 

“Yes, sans rat,” Feliciano agreed. “No roaches that I could see either, so already above the last one.” He sighed. “We’re not far from the station, are we?” Ludwig shook his head. “Good. Please no more hurrying, I already had to run three blocks.” 

“You’re such a pain,” Ludwig groaned. 

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” Feliciano replied. “Maybe three, but I’m probably exaggerating because I am _very_ dramatic.” Ludwig frowned but offered no rebuttal. 

The storm had dwindled but not passed when they arrived at the station, their clothes made heavy and chafing from the rain. A similar fate had befallen most of the passengers, causing an unpleasant scent of wet cloth and rot that sent Feliciano into another episode of anguish, unresolved until he was safely in the scalding hotel shower. 

Assuming it would be a good hour before Feliciano surfaced, Ludwig sought to make optimal use of his time by assuring his clothes were hung up to dry and then reorganizing his notes. Once satisfied, Ludwig reached for his book, hesitating when he noticed Feliciano’s camera atop the stack of torn sketchbook pages. 

With a quick glance at the bathroom door, Ludwig slid the papers free. One of them was filled with Feliciano’s offensive cursive-print handwriting, which he refolded and replaced. Instead he reached for the next and opened it, jarred to see himself. Besides never having seen himself drawn before, Ludwig was shocked by his expression; had he smiled like that, or was it Feliciano’s artistic interpretation? 

After several moments of staring, the bathroom door opened. Ludwig threw the page on the desk, pretending to be absorbed in his book. Feliciano sighed and glanced at Ludwig, who gave him an innocent nod. 

“What were you just doing?” Feliciano asked. Ludwig feigned confusion. “You’ve got a look in your eye I don’t like. You look guilty.” Feliciano squinted at him for a moment, then turned away and flopped down on the bed. 

“Just out of curiosity, what cologne do you use?” Ludwig asked. Feliciano returned to the bathroom to read off the bottle. 

“ _Acqua di Colonia Fieno_ ,” he said. “It’s… good Lord, that’s a lot. Citrus, rose, myrtle, hawthorn, sandalwood, benzoin resin, vetiver.” He set the bottle down and returned to the bed. “Courtesy of my old girlfriend. I’m not quite sure where it’s from, though, if you’re hoping to get some.” 

Ludwig shook his head. “I didn’t understand half those words anyway. My French doesn’t include much flora.” Feliciano smiled. 

“Then why the curiosity?” Ludwig shrugged, and Feliciano flopped onto his back, messing with the hair at his nape. “Now I miss her. It wasn’t long ago, you know, just this summer.” Ludwig nodded, hoping Feliciano wouldn’t take that as a cue to continue. Naturally, he did. 

“She worked at a perfume factory, but made some herself, too. She lived in a cottage by the lavender fields, can you believe that? It was like a dream. We could bike down to the ocean, right down to the ocean. Hardly a rainy day. I painted her so many times, we rarely had our clothes on…” Ludwig cleared his throat loudly to stop him. 

Of course. Of course Feliciano’s last girlfriend would be a perfume maker who lived in _le Midi_ by the ocean and the lavender fields.

“That’s not true.” Ludwig scoffed. “Real people don’t live in cottages by lavender fields and sell perfume. It’s unrealistic,” he said. Feliciano propped himself up to argue. “Or perhaps I’ve just led an exceptionally boring life.” Ludwig drummed his fingers on the book cover. “Better to err on the side of caution.” 

“Never too late to change,” Feliciano said with a wink. “Do a little erring elsewhere.” Ludwig raised his eyebrows, halting his tapping when Feliciano stood up. “I almost forgot!” He picked up the folded page of sketches and passed it to Ludwig, who tried to replicate his earlier surprise. Feliciano leaned over Ludwig’s shoulder to examine them, sighing under his breath.

Even in the Louvre, even on the train, Feliciano had not been so close. Ludwig thought back to the afternoon, that unprompted, unpleasant thought of kissing him. But he had plenty of miscreant thoughts, there was no reason to exacerbate this particular one. 

“Impressive likeness,” Ludwig said. 

Feliciano gave a little gasp in his ear. “A compliment.”

“I didn’t doubt your talent,” Ludwig muttered, sliding the page beneath his notebook’s cover. “Though you did surpass my expectations.” Feliciano laughed derisively and settled on the end of the bed. 

“Good,” he said. “Though really, you’re a work of art in your own right.” 

“Uh.” Ludwig reddened. “Um, I, t-thanks. You, you as well!” Ludwig’s voice went up and he cleared his throat. 

“Oh, I’m aware,” Feliciano said.

“Bit arrogant. You know what they say about pride.” 

“Goeth before destruction, haughty spirit before a fall,” Feliciano said. “I’m not worried.” He smiled, Phaethon’s smile as he asked Phoebus to bring his chariot across the heavens. Before he dropped to the earth, before he raised wistful eyes to the impossibly distant sun he couldn’t feel, before his fingers filled with felled amber. Perhaps Phaethon’s mourning surpassed that of Icarus, since in part he belonged to the sun. But regardless of belonging, he too had fallen, and he ached all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In regards to Antinous / Hadrian: Hadrian was the emperor of Rome from 117 – 138. To keep it simple, Hadrian and Antinous were really close and when Antinous died, Hadrian defied him and commissioned hundreds of statues of him; the only people with more statues than Antinous are the first emperor Augustus and Hadrian himself. 
> 
> **I’m not positive if currywurst had spread beyond one restaurant at this point, so sorry for the possible inaccuracies


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Should Have Known Better - Sufjan Stevens](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJJT00wqlOo)

The place between sleep and waking gripped Ludwig’s thoughts in blissful suspension, a balmy respite that reminded him of those mornings in the cottage loft in Austria. The autumn wind that ventured in through the slanted window and chilled Ludwig’s nose until he burrowed deeper under the heavy quilts still scented with bonfire. Chickadees sang among conifer boughs that hid the mountains’ foothills, turned sepia and russet, their dusting of wildflowers and edelweiss having vanished along with the summer. 

Ludwig buried his face in the blanket but smelled hotel cleaner, tightening his loose grip on reality even as he resisted. He wanted to stay in this respite from reality, to doze in the warmth, hear Feliciano’s soft, measured breathing. Feliciano. Ludwig forced himself to open his eyes and clarify his conscious. 

Feliciano was precious few centimeters from him, close enough Ludwig made out every faint fault on his skin, the exact arc of his lashes, the elegance of his lips, so flawlessly graceful and lovely. But staring was invasive, so Ludwig settled his eyes on his own hand. It just scarcely touched Feliciano’s, the source of that delicate pressure between Ludwig’s knuckles. 

With a stuttering exhale, Ludwig turned away with unnecessary roughness, distracting himself with a look at the clock. In his haste he dragged the blanket from a now languishing Feliciano, who gave a chirp of complaint and curled up against Ludwig’s back. He breathed a contented sigh at this improved heat source, and Ludwig felt it through his shirt. 

Against his principal moral of denying human contact, Ludwig granted himself a moment to savor the comfort of physical intimacy before commencing civil court against his emotions. 

The unshakeable tension in Ludwig’s body eased some, reanimating his lost blissful oblivion. The taunt of having that lull again nearly convinced Ludwig to give in to the innocent morning calm and let Feliciano lay on him. 

Instead he chose the practiced habit of refusing comfort and began a mental argument over whether it would be appropriate to fling himself from the bed. Possibly the window, but that decision was further down the agenda. He opted for a swift exit, refusing himself a look at Feliciano but pausing to fix the blanket for him, since that was surely common courtesy. 

Deciding he needed a walk and some caffeine, Ludwig dressed and left the room. He reached Pariser Platz before obtaining some cheap but acceptable coffee, which prompted his second crisis of the day: Feliciano said he liked cappuccinos, but if Ludwig bought one, would that seem too obvious? Obvious of what? Should he order something similar to show he’d made an effort but not paid that much attention? 

Ludwig scoffed at himself. That was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. It was coffee, it didn’t mean anything, it was _just coffee_. Feeling defiant, Ludwig ordered it and returned to the hotel to find Feliciano perched by the window, flipping through his sketchbook. He raised his head and smiled. 

“Good morning, Ludwig!” he said. “Did you sleep well?” 

“Well enough, yes,” he said. “I got you coffee.” 

“Thank you,” Feliciano said, gratefully taking it from him. “You’re so sweet.” 

“It’s only coffee,” Ludwig said. 

“I know, but it’s still nice of you.” Feliciano sighed and tossed his sketchbook onto the bed. “Still no luck,” he added. “Maybe I should go back to fencing.” Ludwig raised his eyebrows. “What’s that for? Put your eyebrows down this instant. I was an incredible fencer.” 

“Was?” Ludwig echoed. Feliciano sighed.

“Yeah, was.” He tapped his cup for a moment, glancing out the window. “I loved it, especially when I was younger. I was amazing, too…” he sighed over Ludwig’s scoff. “I went a whole three years without losing a match. But that only made it overwhelming, because every match I risked losing my streak. So I just quit.” Ludwig stared at him. 

“Are you being serious?” Ludwig asked. Feliciano nodded. “Pardon me, but that sounds immeasurably arrogant.” Feliciano lowered his gaze, picking at his cup. “You _quit_? Just because you couldn’t stand losing?” 

“It wasn’t that,” Feliciano insisted. “It was…” he struggled for an argument. 

“You’re about to commit some high-level perjury,” Ludwig said. Feliciano sighed.

“No, I was just… Nevermind.” 

“May I be honest with you?” Ludwig asked. Feliciano shrugged, for once refusing to meet his eyes. “Maybe it’s less your ego and more your hypocrisy.” Now Feliciano raised his eyebrows. “Since you met you’ve told me to loosen up about rules and how things ‘should’ be, but here you are saying you quit something you loved because you couldn't stand imperfection,” he explained. “Just an observation.” 

“Sounds like several. Not that you’re wrong.” Feliciano sighed and sat back, resting the crown of his head on the window and studying the curtain rod. “But what was I supposed to do? And what about now?” 

“You don’t solve these things overnight, so just take a break. I don’t understand why you’re unwilling. You’re not out of ideas, no one is ever just out of ideas, it’s not as if your imagination stopped functioning. But you can’t expect to produce a masterpiece a day, and you’ll exhaust yourself trying.” 

“I _am_ exhausted,” Feliciano muttered. Then he leaned forward and smiled, cocking his head a bit. “I’m going to talk to you about all my problems from now on, Ludwig. And I’ve got a _lot_. A lot a lot. I could make a fun weekend out of just categorizing them.” Ludwig feigned shuddering. “Especially my relationships…” he shook his head and took a drink. 

“I’m going to have to decline that offer,” Ludwig said. 

“You won’t even consider it?”

“I considered it and was horrified.” He was somewhat surprised when Feliciano gave a little half-laugh. “What’s so funny?” 

Feliciano shrugged. “I’ll get back to you on that.” 

“Sure.” Ludwig sat down at the desk chair and crossed his legs. “Off topic, but I need to ask you something for the sake of planning. I want to visit Dresden, preferably Wednesday, do you want to come?” Feliciano nodded. “Okay, I’ll get that sorted then. Hopefully you can use Gilbert's day permit, but...” Ludwig turned away to scribble something in his omnipresent little notebook. 

“Did you happen to get any food?” Feliciano asked. 

“No, but there are some rolls in that bag if you’re hungry.” Feliciano gleefully went after the rolls and perched on the end of the bed, giving a vindictive glance at his sketchbook before asking where the bread had appeared from. 

“Oh, my brother made them,” Ludwig said. 

“That’s so nice of him. Tell Gilbert he’s a great baker.” Feliciano smiled to himself. “I like him. He’s entertaining.” Ludwig shook his head.

“He can never know you said any of this, it’ll go right to his head and I’ll never hear the end of it. My life will be hell.” Feliciano laughed, and Ludwig smiled in spite of himself. Feliciano had such a clear, unapologetic laugh. Really, there was nothing apologetic about him, nothing contained or covert, and Ludwig half envied him for it. He had gotten too used to withdrawn bitterness after returning to Berlin.

This changed version of the city deepened his sense of disconnect, but being able to show Feliciano the familiar streets quelled it somewhat. Against possibly every odd, Ludwig found himself beginning to enjoy Feliciano’s company. Even if he talked Ludwig’s ears off about everything, Feliciano had genuine interest in what Ludwig had to say. And it had been ages since anyone made Ludwig laugh. 

Upon boarding the U-Bahn that evening, Ludwig figured he must be developing some kind of mental defense; he hardly knew Feliciano, it was unreasonable to like him so much. 

Ludwig glanced sideways at him. He was quite gaunt, his hands folded in his lap as he stared at the train floor. 

“Are you alright?” Ludwig asked. 

“I told you, undergrounds make me so sick and if I open my mouth I’ll probably vomit,” Feliciano said. 

“Ah,” Ludwig muttered. He hesitated, then said, “go sit over there. Facing forward will help with the motion sickness.” He gestured with his elbow. Feliciano opened an eye. 

“It’s not the movement. It’s the air that makes me nauseous. I’ll be fine once we get above ground.” 

“Only two more stops.” 

“I appreciate the reassurance,” Feliciano said, closing his eyes and blindly patting Ludwig’s shoulder but missing and swiping his neck. Ludwig leaned away. 

“I thought maybe it was the wine we had,” Ludwig admitted. “It was kind of bad… right?” 

“Yes, it was _horrible_! I hate sweet wine with more anger than I can contain in my being, but I figured if I was in Germany I should have some eiswein. _Cum Germaniae estis agite sicut Germani_ and all that.” 

“I told you I don’t remember any Latin,” Ludwig said, frowning at Feliciano’s small smile. “Though I’ll venture a guess that was a play on ‘when in Rome?’” Feliciano nodded. “Hm. I don’t pay much attention to wine, it all tastes the same to me.” Feliciano gasped and clutched at his heart. “Oh for God’s sake,” Ludwig groaned. “You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?” 

“I think, therefore I am,” Feliciano said. “Now please, I don’t want to throw up.” Ludwig stayed quiet the rest of the trip while Feliciano continued to pale beside them until he was finally able to flee the train. 

Ludwig waited for him to settle his stomach beside the station, casting his eye towards the distant silhouette of the Berlin Cathedral. “What’s wrong?” Feliciano asked, noticing the shift in Ludwig’s expression. 

“I… I’m not sure,” Ludwig said, raising his cold hands to his mouth and breath on them. They were chapped and rough against his numb cheeks, reminiscent of that far off but creeping frostbite on the Eastern Front. 

Feliciano nodded, suddenly sidestepping to be out of sight from the main street. “Can I see your hands?” he asked. Ludwig glanced at him, hesitating a fair few seconds before resting them on Feliciano’s palm. Then Feliciano took a step nearer, gingerly pressing Ludwig’s fingers between his own. Heat came back to Ludwig’s unfeeling face. 

“That’s better, right?” Feliciano murmured with a soft smile. Ludwig nodded, unsure if he was breathing. Feliciano was too gentle, too intimate, and it gave Ludwig’s breath an uneven vibrato when he exhaled. It halted altogether when Feliciano brushed his fingertips, overly sensitive because Ludwig bit his nails to the quick. 

“Your poor fingers,” Feliciano said. He grazed his thumb over them again. “Doesn’t that hurt?” 

“It’s fine,” Ludwig insisted, waving it off in a decidedly un-Ludwiglike gesture. “It’s getting late. Let’s go.” Ludwig regained his earlier malaise as they headed for the hotel, which unsettled him further. His thoughts were becoming treasonous. It was time to attain higher levels of emotional suppression (likely impossible, but Ludwig enjoyed a challenge). 

After being on his feet all day, Ludwig was relieved to settle in for the night. Unfortunately, he suffered another bitter emotional betrayal: he had the bed to himself while Feliciano changed, and his loneliness was being dredged up by the handful. It was absurd, considering he never slept beside anyone. Not since Russia, anyway. 

No one would have thought much of them huddling close in the freezing Siberian winter, even sharing foxholes, or even how Ludwig stared at him with rapt admiration. Not when everyone but the Barbarossa veterans were impressed by him, his flawless articulation, unfaltering calm, the clever cast to his eyes. They couldn’t help it. 

The memories Ludwig carried of the Wehrmacht were a muddle with no more semblance of reality than a dream, but Ludwig could never forget his face. In every fraction of recollection, alongside the cold, that unrelenting cold, weighed down under the stars. 

It lay hoarfrost thick along the hardened ground. Seared his throat when he gasped. Numbed Ludwig’s fingers until he felt no warmth from his chapped lips as he touched them and whispered, 

_“Did you just kiss me?”_

The cold and the dark. Even on early summer nights. The spike of panic in Ludwig’s chest when he reached to push him off, his throat closing when he realized he wasn’t strong enough. 

_“We’ll get caught.”_

_“Maybe. That’s half the fun.”_

_“No, it’s not. I don’t want to right now, please, not right now.”_ Ludwig had thought to yell, knowing it wouldn’t fall on deaf ears in this silence. But he couldn’t call for help without putting blood on his hands. 

_“You won’t protest so much in a moment, trust me. You do trust me, don’t you, Ludwig?”_ The fingers that brushed Ludwig’s cheek were so stiff with residual winter he could have been caressed by a cadaver. But Ludwig bent to his touch, needing something other than the cold and the dark. 

_“Yes, I trust you.”_

_“So?”_

_“Keep going.”_

Ludwig touched his forehead, reminding himself he was here in Berlin with Feliciano, who had just emerged from the bathroom and tossed his clothes into an offensive pile atop his suitcase. Ludwig heard him sing under his breath, cut off by a yawn when he flopped down on the bed. 

“I’m so tired,” Feliciano groaned. “Will you turn the light off?” Ludwig obliged, and Feliciano began a great deal of rustling as he struggled to get comfortable. 

“What are you doing now?” 

“It’s chilly.” Feliciano gave a fervent tug on the blanket, but Ludwig held it steady. 

“Don’t take the blanket. You can… You can come closer to me if it’ll end this tomfoolery.” 

“Tomfoolery!” Feliciano shot back. “Are you sure?” Ludwig nodded, and Feliciano edged a little nearer. “Bless you, that’s so much better. If I get too close when I fall asleep, just shove me. I’ll stay asleep.” His voice was softer, somewhat gauzy with fatigue. Ludwig could nearly feel it at the nape of his neck. 

“Noted,” he said. Feliciano snickered into the pillow, burrowing into the blankets so only his nose upwards was visible. “Goodnight.” 

“Mm, sleep well,” Feliciano murmured. Ludwig closed his eyes, lulled by the gradual intermingling of their body heat. There was no imagining the Russian winter in warmth like this. Ludwig drew a deep breath, settling nearer to Feliciano and finally letting himself relax.


	9. Chapter 9

Feliciano flung himself into the chair opposite Ludwig, digging a hand through his disheveled hair and wreaking further havoc on it. He must have had a cigarette because his coat smelled of stale tobacco smoke. Ludwig surmised he was either tired or had committed some social atrocity while relying on his seven-word, mostly-profane German vocabulary. Yet Ludwig gave it no genuine thought, assuming Feliciano would divulge in upsetting detail after a few moments, but he remained silent. 

Odd, but Feliciano was likely just exhausted from the early trip to this corner of the city; they were supposed to view a studio apartment Gilbert’s friend had recommended, but the landlord didn’t show. Left with several free hours, Ludwig went to the library while Feliciano sketched in a withering rose garden some blocks away. 

The library faced the railyard at the outskirts of Berlin’s train lines; unoccupied, drab, and with a perpetually damp appearance, it appeared more unpleasant in the stark daylight. So Ludwig whiled away the morning watching trains and reminiscing about the library he adored back in Dresden, its scuffed wood floors and rows of books savory with the scent of age. He ached to see it again, unable to stomach the thought of it becoming a pile of ash swept away some summers ago. 

“What did you do?” Ludwig finally asked. Feliciano frowned, confused. “Did you or did you not cause chaos that I have to apologize for?” 

“I didn’t do anything,” Feliciano snapped. Ludwig’s eyes widened at his tone, prompting Feliciano to give a hurried apology. “I’m just…” He passed a hand over his hair and sighed. “I’m so fucking frustrated,” he said, well above what Ludwig considered appropriate library volume. However Ludwig was too jarred at hearing Feliciano curse to tell him off. 

“I thought going to Germany would _do something_ , I really did. I figured I was in a rut, but now I’m clearly out of it and it’s not fucking helping.” Bracing his elbows on the table, Feliciano dug the heels of his hands against his forehead. 

“Of course it isn’t,” Ludwig said. “Why would you assume your art block wouldn’t continue abroad?” Feliciano groaned, proceeding to crumple completely and bury his face in his arms. Evidently, Ludwig should have chosen his words better. Besides, there was reason for him to think a change of scenery would help. 

“I still recommend you take a break. You’re too stubborn, which I’ve got not right to speak on, but the sentiment stands,” Ludwig said. 

“I don’t want a break,” Feliciano said against the table. “I want to fix this. I _need_ to fix this,” he insisted. “And I am not stubborn—”

“You are,” Ludwig said. “You won’t get anywhere like this. It’s not worth getting into such a state about.”

Feliciano raised his head, scowling. “Okay, you know what, screw you,” he said after a pause. “I’ve had it up to here with people telling me I’m overreacting, I don’t need to from you.” Ludwig dropped his eyes and Feliciano groaned and pinched his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Ludwig. I didn’t mean to lash out like that. But this is my job, _I can’t do my job_. I’m well within my right to be upset.” 

“I know, you’re right,” Ludwig insisted. “But you’re exacerbating the issue by refusing to solve it another way. I have more experience in burnout than you could imagine: I know what I’m talking about. You’re making this cycle of frustration worse and worse, which makes everything seem more hopeless. Yes, it’s exhausting and feels impossible to escape, but if you won’t even try, I’ll assume you want to be miserable.” 

Feliciano leaned on his hand, proceeding to rub his forehead as if trying to alleviate a headache. “Ugh, sometimes talking to you is like having a glass of wine flung in my face,” he muttered. Ludwig waited for him to concede or argue further, but instead he said, “I’ve never seen you wear glasses before. I like them.” Ludwig thanked him, understanding this to be an unequivocal subject change. 

Feliciano tossed his coat over the chair back and Ludwig opened his book to carry on reading. Sitting in silence with Feliciano wound pressured filigree up between Ludwig’s ribs, pulling his spine taught, weighing heavy on his lungs until his breaths shallowed. It would ease if only he thought of more to say, something to fill the silence. He had never needed to fill silence before. Why was it so uncomfortable now, he wondered, glancing at Feliciano over his book. He caught Ludwig’s look. Smiled a bit. 

Why indeed. Ludwig knew. 

Eventually Feliciano stood up to wander through the stacks. Ludwig watched the soft play of his fingers down book spines, the way he kept brushing his untidy hair from his cheeks. Tangible exhaustion hung off his shoulders, Ludwig recognized it, recognized the weary work of holding up the heavens, the impossibly heavy heavens. 

Feliciano paused beside the window, alone, alone against the blue sky and lusterless webwork of industry. He stood there some seconds, perhaps watching the platform, Ludwig didn’t know, before returning to the table. 

“Are there any camera shops around here?” Feliciano asked. “I want this roll developed.” Ludwig gave a noncommittal _probably_ as he sat back down. “How do I say that?” Ludwig pushed his book away and reached for his notebook to write it out. 

“I fail to understand why you can call someone a slut but not even order coffee. I can’t imagine it would get you far with anyone,” Ludwig said. 

“‘Get me very far?’” Feliciano echoed. “You think I would try seducing someone like that?” he laughed. “My brother taught it to me, probably so I’d horrify our German neighbors in Lisbon,” he explained. 

“I see,” Ludwig said. He flipped the notebook around so Feliciano could read it. “The pronunciation is constant, unlike the phonetic nightmare guessing game that is French,” he added, proceeding to read the words off as slow and clear as he could. 

“You try,” Ludwig prompted him. Feliciano tried. Ludwig’s expression said he had sorely underperformed. 

“Again?” Feliciano suggested. “Would you not look at me like that? It’s intimidating.” Ludwig rolled his eyes. “Roll your eyes at me again I _will_ cry, and nobody wants to see a grown man cry, less of all you I’m sure.” 

“I’m not trying to be intimidating.” 

“You’re excellent at convincing the contrary,” Feliciano said. “Let me hear you say it again.” Ludwig repeated the phrases and Feliciano copied them until his pronunciation reached Ludwig’s standard. Then Ludwig slid his notebook rightside up to write a phonetic spelling for him. “What’re you writing now?” Feliciano asked. When Ludwig explained, Feliciano hurried to sit beside him, saying he needed to make sure the phoneticisms would make sense. 

As Feliciano leaned closer, the filaments running up Ludwig’s ribcage and spine tightened, pressing harder on his lungs, his heart. How did they always end up like this? Far too close, with Feliciano fully, blissfully unaware of what he was doing. 

Not that he was doing anything, Ludwig reminded himself, trying in vain to ignore the pressure of Feliciano’s arm against his shoulder, the harsh scent of cigarettes left over in his hair. But he couldn’t ignore the cords embroidered throughout his torso, around the cartilage and sinew and bone, pulled tighter and tighter at the subtlety of Feliciano’s touch. 

Ludwig turned to face him, unnerved by how near Feliciano was to him. “Yes?” Feliciano asked. 

“N-nothing,” he breathed. “Are you hungry? I’m feeling a bit peckish.” He neatly tore the page from his notebook to give Feliciano. 

“Sounds wonderful. _Danke_ , _Schlampe_ ,” Feliciano added after pocketing the paper. 

“Please don’t call me that,” Ludwig said. He put his things into his bag and followed Feliciano from the cloistered corner for the library’s foyer. Out on the sidewalk, Feliciano took a carton of cigarettes from his back pocket, offering one to Ludwig before lighting his own. Ludwig declined. 

“Roderich is always getting after me when I smoke,” Feliciano muttered, leaning back against the library wall. “Finally I can do it in peace.” 

“He used to yell at Gilbert about it too,” Ludwig said. “That reminds me, I’ve been meaning to ask, when did you meet Roderich?” 

“Oh, way back in 48,” Feliciano said. “We were staying in some hostel in Trento. One night he overheard me speaking French with my girlfriend on the phone—which was a half hour walk from the place, by the way, because it was too remote up on the hill, and the thing was from about 1910 so it was hardly even worth it—anyway. He said thank God I knew French because he didn’t know one word of Italian and asked if I did, and this somehow ended up with me as his personal translator for the week. 

“Coincidentally we were both going to Salzburg the next week so we took the train together and stayed in the same place. He returned the personal translator favor and after that we kept in touch. When he graduated he needed a cheap place to stay so I suggested he come to Paris and rent out a room where I was staying. Elizabeta, that’s his girlfriend, or fiancée, and I were basically living there already, so I could pull strings. 

“It was such a nightmare though because he was dating Lovino’s current girlfriend when he moved in, and Lovino was always all hot and bothered about her, definitely the worst post-war months of my life.” Feliciano took another drag and sighed. “And you? Roderich mentioned he was… closely acquainted with your brother,” Feliciano started as they started down the street. The wording caught Ludwig’s attention somewhat, and Feliciano wasn’t looking at him. Had Feliciano meant for ambiguity, or was Ludwig reading in between the lines too much? Did Feliciano want him to? 

“Yes, closely acquainted,” Ludwig chose slowly. 

“Very closely?” Feliciano continued. That had to be purposeful. But why did Feliciano care? If he knew this much, surely Roderich had told him everything. If not, why would he assume anything more about their friendship? Was he sniffing around to ruin Roderich’s career? Ludwig doubted that; it was illogical given how excited Feliciano was for his success. 

That left only one real alternative: he wanted to know if Ludwig knew. 

“You could say that,” Ludwig said. “Feliciano, I’m… I’m not sure if you’re insinuating something.” 

Feliciano laughed under his breath. “Oh come on, Ludwig,” he muttered, finally facing him. “You’re too smart to pretend you don’t know what I’m asking.” 

“I’m being careful,” Ludwig insisted. 

“I know. You don’t have to worry about that with me. I was making sure it was the same with you.” Ludwig hesitated another moment, debating asking Feliciano why. He missed his chance when Feliciano said, “Gilbert said Roderich looked after you when your dad was sick? You don’t have to explain, I just thought it was funny since Roderich’s lazier than me. Also, I remember him saying he was staying with his… male close acquaintance’s brother. Was that you?” 

“Likely,” Ludwig said. “Around then I could hardly get out of bed without hurting myself, it was truly pathetic. Gilbert worked all day and our dad was in the hospital, so Roderich stayed with me for a few months. I quite enjoyed his company, spare the time he asked me how to… uh, no longer be acquainted with my brother, as if I were supposed to know.” 

Feliciano shook his head. “I hate it when he does that. I mean, you screwed yourself into this mess, screw yourself out! Can’t be that difficult.” Feliciano took a short drag on his cigarette, then glanced over at Ludwig. “What happened to you?” He winced. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have asked that.” 

“I expected it,” Ludwig said. “Just a grenade blast, but I healed fine. The trauma to my eardrum was permanent, unfortunately, so now everything I hear from my right is muffled. I’ve got tinnitus half the time too, but I shouldn’t complain; it’s not a bad souvenir compared to what other people dealt with.” 

Feliciano crossed his arms. “I… I do feel guilty sometimes that I didn’t fight. Because I had a choice that so many other people didn’t. It’s not fair.” 

“Neither is half of anything that happens, it’s not your fault,” Ludwig said. “Things just… happen.” 

“Ooh, philosophy!” Feliciano said. Ludwig blushed. “Sorry, that was mean. I understand what you’re saying.” Ludwig nodded, dropping into thought as they continued along the sidewalk. “How about here? It looks cheap but good enough.” Ludwig shrugged and agreed. 

The place was small and rather woody, lit with dim overheads and daylight. Feliciano prefered to sit beside the window where there was the most light, watching the people pass on the sidewalk. 

“What’s that song on the radio?” Feliciano asked. Ludwig listened for a moment but admitted he didn’t know. “That melody makes my brain happy,” Feliciano said. “Music psychology really started to interest me since I started living with two and half musicians. Elizaveta’s the half,” he explained. “Just the way a certain chord or melody can physically _feel_ different.” Ludwig nodded, even smiling a bit. More than Feliciano was used to seeing, anyway. 

“I know exactly what you mean,” Ludwig started. “Have you heard “ _Abendlied”_? It’s by Josef Rheinberger, and I’ve always loved it. It’s six-part a capella, one of the loveliest things I’ve heard in my life. I have a record of it back in France.” Ludwig glanced at the menu for a moment. “When we go to Dresden, we can see if the record shop is still there and if they have a copy. I’m sure they will.” Feliciano nodded. Ludwig was beginning to feel somewhat anxious, and he started pushing his foot against the table leg to alleviate it. 

“What time is our train?” Feliciano asked. Ludwig gave him the time, frowning when Feliciano suddenly stiffened. “Ludwig,” he dropped his voice. “Why are you sliding my pant leg up?” Ludwig sat up straight. 

“Jesus, I thought that was the tablecloth,” he said, blushing when Feliciano laughed. “I’m sorry, dear God, I probably seemed like I was…” he shook his head. “Forgive me, I truly thought it was the table.” 

“It’s okay,” Feliciano said. “I figured you wouldn’t try to make my acquaintance in the middle of a restaurant.” He said it casually, but it gave Ludwig pause. Despite his embarrassment, he met Feliciano’s eyes, overwhelmed by these fresh implications. 

“That’s still my leg.” Ludwig dissolved into renewed self-consciousness, covering his face with his hands. “You know, if you’ve got something you’d like to say to me…” Feliciano murmured, nudging Ludwig’s ankle. “Go ahead. Don’t be shy,” Feliciano said. 

_Fuck_ , Ludwig thought, staring at his palms. “I don’t,” he said, finally looking up. 

“No?” Feliciano asked, grazing the back of Ludwig’s calf. Ludwig shook his head. “Then why do you seem so flustered?” Feliciano asked. Ludwig stared at him in disbelief. “What? I’m none the wiser.” Ludwig shook his head. 

“You’re enjoying this.” 

“Immensely.” Feliciano smiled and took his leg back, glancing over his shoulder. “Where is the wait staff, anyway?” Ludwig didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure if he even could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for your comments!! I love reading them <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer: I scoured the internet for 2+ hours and couldn’t find concrete information about border railway crossings like this in 1954, so you’re going to have to deal with speculation

Once again, Feliciano’s eyes drifted over to Ludwig. They sat in a tight compartment on one of the trains authorized to make border crossings, Ludwig sitting opposite and staring out the window. The daylight was beginning to soften with late afternoon, leaving a gentle tract of amber along the line of his throat and marking his irises with copper. 

Feliciano tapped his pencil on the blank page in front of him. It had been posed there for the past fifteen minutes. He comforted himself by reasoning it was only impossible to focus because of those sideways looks Ludwig endlessly gave him. Ludwig was quick to look away, perhaps thinking Feliciano hadn’t even seen.

Feliciano saw. He saw the faint flush form on Ludwig’s face when he was caught staring. How he feigned accidently grazing a hand against Feliciano’s when they sat together on the trams or underground. 

When his focus lingered on Feliciano’s mouth too long, as though he lay stranded in daydreams or reveries of kissing him. The looks of intrigue, an embodiment of fascination or surrender to the suggestion of intimacy and romance. 

But Feliciano engineered his intrigue. Arranged his most quaint, beguiling anecdotes and love affairs into an exquisite image of an artist sojourned in Paris. He captivated people’s curiosity, told them every amusing anecdote he had until curiosity became shy adoration. 

Yet when the reality of his life came through the façade, his charm dulled. He watched people’s interest and affection wither, though it never seemed like seeing through his own eyes. Often they acted as though they had been lied to, and in a certain sense that was true. Not of Ludwig, though, when he had already seen behind that lovely, tragic version of himself Feliciano offered. Whether it was enough was up for debate. 

Feliciano picked at the sketchbook’s binding. _You’re a goddamn masochist, Feliciano_ , Lovino had once told him. _You don’t miss her. You like this, you like being heartbroken._

All his close friends had said it to some effect. That he adored misery, would rather lie beside it than anyone else. Feliciano didn’t believe them, considering them to be companions by force, never choice. If he truly revered his misery, why struggle so hard to free himself from it? Why implore his lovers _tell me you love me_ if not to pretend, just for an instant, he didn’t belong to it? 

“Must you keep staring at me?” Ludwig murmured suddenly. Feliciano’s thoughts faded and he smiled. 

“I must, actually,” he said. “You wanna make something of it?” he added, nudging Ludwig’s foot with his. Ludwig shook his head. “Speaking of, you’ve really never considered being a sculptor’s model?” 

“No,” Ludwig said. “I feel like we’ve been over this, but that profession would quite literally be my nightmare.” 

“Why is that?” Feliciano insisted, leaning on his hand and angling himself towards Ludwig, who gave him a look. “Ah yes, nudity in front of a stranger. Well, what if it were me?” he smiled, tilting his head. Ludwig frowned at him, but there was amusement there. “Would you model for me?”

“I’m not going to answer that,” Ludwig said, turning away. 

“Fine, fine.” Feliciano tapped his knee again. “Can I tell you something?” Ludwig gave him an exhausted look, and Feliciano smiled sadly. “I’m being serious,” he said. I was thinking about the other day, when I basically said I quit fencing because I didn’t want to lose, and I really _really_ don’t want you to see me like that.” 

“It wasn’t a favorable look,” Ludwig agreed. 

“No,” Feliciano said. “But it’s not true.” He sighed. “I was good, good enough people suggested I do it professionally. I asked my coach, and he told me I would be throwing away my future and talent if I didn’t. That basically forced me to confront the future for once, which I never ever did because I thought, _who cares, I’m going to be blown up_ , but then I realized I actually _did_ need to care about my future and this sent me into a crisis turned existential breakdown.

“I was always stressed, thinking about what to do with myself, especially when I went to the gym. I’d throw up at practice all the time so I figured better just stop, and looking back it’s so embarrassing that I reacted like that and I hate talking about it but now you know. In conclusion: please don’t think I’m pretentious and overly-sure of myself.” 

Ludwig blinked. “Oh,” he said. “I’m not quite sure what you want me to say.” 

“Nothing. I just didn’t want you to think of me like that,” Feliciano said. Ludwig expressed surprise that Feliciano had never picked the sport up again, and Feliciano glanced at the floor. “Well, it’s humiliating to think about and of course I connect the humiliation and fencing, so you see where the problem comes in,” he explained, touching his two pointer fingers together. 

“I’m sure that makes everything seem worse,” Ludwig said. “At least, I felt as such when I came home from the war. Thinking I was overreacting about, um, certain things. I didn’t handle it particularly well, but that’s not of import,” he added in a rush. 

“Cheers to that,” Feliciano said. “I just cried and jerked off all the time.” 

“Ah,” Ludwig said, looking down. “Books and coffee were enough for me.” Feliciano crossed his arms. 

“Oh come on, don’t act like that. Orgasms are great for boosting your mood, it’s science! You love science!” Ludwig gave him a polite look of disbelief. “Truly. You know, I bet I can guess exactly what you like purely via my expertise.” 

Ludwig scoffed. “That statement is both grossly overstepping hundreds of lines and complete bullshit. Sexuality isn’t predictable.” 

“Not usually, I’ll give you that. But some are easier than others,” Feliciano said. “How about a little field test? Then you can judge,” he teased. “Though, I don’t know you quite well enough to…” Ludwig cut him off. 

“Ah, ready with the caveats, I see,” he said. “Please don’t guess,” he added hurriedly. 

“I would never! Guesses aren’t part of the scientific process,” Feliciano said. “I’m sure you of all people would know that.” Feliciano grazed his fingertips along the side of his neck, pretending to be thinking. “On the other hand, you definitely wouldn’t tell me even if I guessed right. Not that I would be any different,” he continued, shrugging. “Talking is less efficient, I think.” Ludwig inclined his head as if to ask _than what_? Feliciano smirked. “Well, you’ll see, when your curiosity gets the best of you.” 

“When?” Ludwig echoed. “That’s bold. Maybe you are too sure of yourself,” he said. Feliciano leaned closer to him, scoffing. At this, Ludwig quirked an eyebrow. Feliciano was jarred by how attractive it was. “What ever was that for?” Ludwig murmured.

“Because,” Feliciano said, smirking. “As if you could look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me to fuck you.” 

Feliciano’s eyes widened. That was surely too far for Ludwig, who had stiffened and gone red down to the collar. “ _Porco Dio_ , I’m sorry, Ludwig. I got carried away, I was having a bit too much fun…” At this, Ludwig gave the floor a tight-lipped smile and shook his head before meeting Feliciano’s eyes. 

“You expect me to believe that?” Ludwig asked. Feliciano made to apologize again before Ludwig said, “though, I really don’t suppose I could.”

The regret ebbed from Feliciano’s expression. Ludwig was still keeping steady eye contact. He was holding his breath, his lips were parted. Feliciano took a shallow breath. _He wants me to kiss him_ , Feliciano thought. At the notion, Feliciano’s breath shook, infused with the desire to run his fingers along that Herculean jaw and properly revere Prometheus’s finest miracle.

Feliciano's pulse pounded in his head. He heard the echoing ache from the empty atria, begging for something to turn a cog in his hollow heart. To halt the hopeless flow of his amber tears and coveting for the life he had lost in the ruins of Phoebus’s chariot. 

Kissing Ludwig wouldn’t do any of those things. If only he would speak, express a desire for something meaningful, Feliciano would have kissed him. But even as the silent plea showed on his face, Ludwig didn’t say anything, and soon the tension tired itself out. Feliciano sat back. 

Feliciano _tsk_ ed and sighed. “My, have I got to watch my mouth around you.” Ludwig forced an amused sound, short of a laugh. Uncomfortable unresolved suspension lingered between them, wound too tight to ignore, and it was a relief when the train finally halted in Dresden’s station.

Ludwig led the way to the platform. The surrounding swell of talk didn’t echo as it should have; the glass ceiling overheard was still missing panes. Feliciano gazed up towards it, watching a sparrow flit in from a backdrop of blue sky. Birds chirped beneath the flurry of activity, hopping along or fluttering away from heels. 

Outside, Feliciano followed Ludwig across Schlesischer Platz underneath the overhead network of tram wires. They waited at the tram stop opposite the street beside a worn, young couple. The woman wore a coat too big for her and smoked a cheap cigarette, ankles crossed tight. Feliciano lit himself a cigarette as if in solidarity, watching the Soviet soldiers near the station’s entrance, milling beneath the clocks counting down the hour. 

At once Feliciano questioned whether he should say something to Ludwig. He took a draw on his cigarette as he considered, facing the pavement and indulging the curiosity about what might have happened if he had kissed Ludwig on the train. Rounding his shoulders, Feliciano exhaled and glanced at Ludwig. His face betrayed nothing. Always so stoic, Feliciano reasoned with a private laugh as he looked away. 

“We’ll take this one,” Ludwig said, inclining his head towards the oncoming tram. Feliciano nodded, throwing away his cigarette before reaching in his pocket for marks. “Those won’t pay here.” Ludwig gestured at the coins in Feliciano’s hand. “I’ll pay for you.” Feliciano thanked him and slid them back in his pocket, trying to gauge Ludwig’s tone, but like his expression, there was nothing to be gleaned from it, (though perhaps this sudden return to complete impassivity was telling in of itself). 

They sat towards the back, Feliciano beside the window. More unspoken words withered his throat. “Did you come here often?” he finally asked, unable to stomach the silence. 

“Not exactly,” Ludwig said. “Only when my dad needed to be here for work. Typically Gilbert and I would go to the library most of the day, but he would take me to the record store every so often.” 

“I’m happy you finally get to be back,” Feliciano said, smiling. Ludwig offered the smallest smile back. Feliciano chose to consider this a sign the train debacle had not, in fact, undone their entire relationship. Comforted, he allowed the silence to form between them again and admired the passing city as Ludwig had. Like Berlin, several buildings remained cadaverous with scorch marks gauged up their sides. 

“I knew a soldier from Dresden,” Ludwig said abruptly. “In the Wehrmacht. He… well, nevermind.” Feliciano looked at Ludwig, questioning whether he had heard him use that word before. “We should get off here,” Ludwig continued. They stood and filed off the tram, arriving on a pleasant street running along the Elbe. Feliciano glimpsed the edges of boats lined up along the seawall and caught the scent of river rot that had often ventured up from the Tiber. 

“Have you ever visited Venice?” Ludwig asked. Feliciano was surprised by the offhand question. 

“Mmhm, a few times,” Feliciano said. “We spent Christmas there in 1936 or 37. I definitely prefer it in the winter. Less fish smell,” he clarified. As Ludwig adjusted his scarf, Feliciano gave a small inward smile. “I wanted to move there when I was a kid, until I decided I’d rather be in Florence. Obviously I chose neither. But you know, I’m not sure I ever really wanted to move there or if I just loved the idea of it. Another one of my ‘delusional fantasies’ as my wonderful brother likes to call them.” 

“I can see that being an issue for you,” he said, making Feliciano laugh. “The library should be this way.” Ludwig proceeded through the alley behind them, then down a few side streets until he and Feliciano arrived at a block of offices and shops. Based on the Soviet architecture, Feliciano deduced these buildings had replaced whatever had been there before. 

For once Ludwig’s expression was truly sad. He stared at the office building ahead of them, a bitter imposter for the Gothic-style library that had been there before, with its hand painted door and the rose bush that grew up the side. 

“Well, that’s that,” Ludwig announced. “Let’s see if the record store is still standing.” Feliciano didn’t move. 

“Wait,” Feliciano started. “Stay a second. You might feel better to… say goodbye. In a metaphorical sense.” Ludwig dug his hands in his pockets, giving Feliciano a perplexed look before turning around. Feliciano touched his forearm. “I’m so sorry, Ludwig.” 

“Don’t apologize. You haven’t done anything,” Ludwig snapped. “I expected this. Everything burned to the ground, and the government wouldn’t waste resources on places like that, they would allocate them to the station, and the, the…” Ludwig raised an arm to gesture when then let it drop. 

“This is what I’m sorry about,” Feliciano murmured, touching Ludwig’s forearm. “I’m sorry you lost something you cared about.”

“I am too,” Ludwig said. Feliciano took his hand back. “I shouldn’t have been so short with you. I know you meant well.” Feliciano nodded, again considering whether to mention what had happened on the train. He decided not to, since his and Ludwig’s rapport seemed to be progressing as usual. 

Feliciano walked in stride with Ludwig towards the downtown, glimpsing snatches of pretty blue sky caught between steeples. When they arrived at the record store, Ludwig was visibly shocked, though he noted the place appeared far worse for the wear than he recalled. He held the door for Feliciano, who was kindly greeted by a waft of dust. 

Ludwig set off for the dustiest corner, where operas and compilations by classical composers packed the shelves. Meanwhile Feliciano picked his way through a few crates stacked on an aged wooden table, chancing a look at Ludwig. He caught Ludwig looking at him before hurriedly flicking his eyes down. Feliciano smiled to himself, continually arresting Ludwig’s search by trying to meet his gaze. Even as Ludwig acted appalled by this casual flirtatious game, he was clearly happy to participate. 

Eventually Ludwig held his eyes and beckoned him closer. Feliciano meandered over to stand beside him. “Yes?” he asked. 

“I found _“Abendlied”_ ,” Ludwig said. “There’s a record player here, I’ll ask if we can use it. Wait here.” Ludwig passed Feliciano the record and headed for the counter, disappearing amongst the array of tables and shelves for a moment. 

“He said yes,” Ludwig said upon returning. He hesitated before adding, “you’ve got a spiderweb in your hair.” Feliciano bristled and swiped at his head. “I’ll get it.” Ludwig whisked it off, inadvertently brushing Feliciano’s hair behind his ear. His fingertips grazed Feliciano’s temple and cheek, and for once Feliciano was the one to blush and look away. 

“Here,” he murmured, handing the record back before fixing his hair. 

The turntable rested on another scratched-up table, underneath a narrow window that faced the Elbe. Ludwig crouched down and Feliciano knelt beside him, glancing around at the dusty records that muffled the noise around them. Scraps of paper were pinned to the shelves, announcing marked down prices. Feliciano wondered how different the place had been before the war, a thought he often had in Paris. Even in Rome, but there it became a question of what changes he didn’t notice simply because he never expected them. 

Ludwig tended to the record, carefully swiping the dust away. Feliciano watched how gentle he was, hung up on the memory of Ludwig’s fingertips against his cheek. He had fully decided now: he regretted not kissing Ludwig. It gave him a visceral pain, urging him to undo that grievous past error. 

“There,” Ludwig murmured, setting the needle down. Feliciano shifted closer to listen, though half his thoughts lingering on Ludwig. He gave in to them and looked at Ludwig, his eyes closed as he smiled slightly. Feliciano smiled too. 

“It’s beautiful,” Feliciano said when the last chord faded. He turned to Ludwig, shocked to see tears in his eyes. “Are you crying?” He put a hand on Ludwig’s without thinking. Ludwig shook his head, swiping at his eyes.

“Of course not.” He sounded congested. 

“Mm, it’s the dust, isn’t it? It is a dust fest in here,” Feliciano continued, looking around. Ludwig nodded, starting the song over again, saying he wanted to hear it a last time. “Does it remind you of something?” Feliciano asked. “Just, you obviously love it, any particular reason?” 

“It does,” he admitted finally. “I used to go watch the choir practice on Saturdays at this chapel down the street. I had friends in the choir.” He sniffed and stared at the ceiling, closing his eyes. “They sang this one during the last summer before the war.” He opened his eyes and cleared his throat. Feliciano squeezed his hand lightly, not saying anything. 

“I’m fine,” Ludwig said, glancing at their hands. “It’s just dusty,” he added, slipping the record back into its sleeve. 

“Oh, I know,” Feliciano said with a sigh. “This dust really is a force to be reckoned with, but don’t worry. I’ll protect you. Under this fragile frame, I too am a force to be reckoned with.” Ludwig shook his head, standing with some difficulty. Feliciano followed suit, and then they thanked the owner and stepped outside into the waning afternoon. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Berlin, Without Return - Voxtrot](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FkW1FX7cbxs)  
> ((This is one of my favorite songs currently))
> 
> *The Eridanos was the river Phaethon supposedly fell into

The coffee shop Ludwig and Feliciano wandered into had a stifling warmth. Ludwig was relieved whenever others ambled in, letting in the autumn chill and the scent of cold concrete and the city to mingle with the aroma of bitter coffee. Snatches of conversation smattered with Russian and quiet laughter buzzed in the room beneath the loud ringing in Ludwig’s ear. He put a hand over it, a previously effective placebo to dull the noise but now just a habitual gesture. 

Ludwig found the coffee watery and sour. Feliciano had refused to drink more than a sip, saying he found it “just plain awful.” It sat beside his stubbed eraser, already looking stale, while Feliciano scribbled away in his sketchbook, a hand in his hair and his sweater draped over his thighs. 

Someone brought out a tray of fresh-baked pastries to replenish the case. The smell reminded Ludwig of their flat on Bernauer during Christmas Eve, when his aunt made _Bethmännchen_. Gilbert would sneak Ludwig marzipan from the kitchen to discreetly deposit in his hand with a lofty wink as he read Schiller on their living room couch. 

Just as Ludwig smiled at the memory, guilt nipped his conscience; it always did when thinking of his brother. 

Trying to distract himself, Ludwig checked his watch. “We’ve only got an hour before the return train,” he said. “I’d like to walk around, but if you prefer to stay here I’ll reconvene with you in a bit.” 

“Okay,” Feliciano said. He sounded tired. Looked it, too, but Ludwig doubted he wanted to hear that. He gave him a handful of East marks in case he needed them, then stepped outside. 

His ear kept ringing. He ignored it. Even as the trams clattered by and people passed him on the sidewalk, he felt a pervasive sense of cold and isolation. Part of it was reconciling this changed piece of personal history, but he knew that wasn’t the sole factor. Not when his heart beat so hard and his face was so flushed.

Eventually Ludwig dropped into a bookstore, cloistering himself in the stacks to gather his thoughts, an impossible prospect. There were few real thoughts to gather, more snatches of Feliciano’s laugh, his gentle touches, how his eyes brightened when he smiled, the scent of the lotion he used after showering. Otherwise there were only those of the offhand, intruding variety: _he’s ridiculously attractive, my God I want to kiss him, I wish he would touch me again, does he know what he’s doing to me? Is he doing it on purpose? I shouldn't think that._

After another sigh Ludwig leaned against the shelves, covering his face with his hands as if trying to get a physical hold on it all. 

Many times over he had felt like this, but these particular thoughts stirred unease in the sense they seemed less an emotion and more a revelation. He considered relying on intuition a dangerous game, but he was so sure Feliciano was just as interested in him. Though, maybe he was hopeful precisely because of the unfamiliarity, at once heartbreaking and its own dizzying high when his imagination drifted to all the possibilities. 

They could be real, Ludwig thought as he dug the heels of his hands against his eyes. He saw colors in the blackness, punctuated by all those possibilities. If only he could say something. 

While Ludwig was quick to dismiss it all as errant sexual frustration and loneliness, he felt genuine irritation with himself as he did. It seemed a disservice to suggest this genuine connection he had formed with someone so quickly was only the work of predetermined biology anyone would be powerless to. 

Ludwig slumped against the bookshelves. The truth was, he was plain wrecked over Feliciano. He despised suffering inner turmoil about others, feeling so helpless and unsure what to do. He wished he could stomach it. For once he wanted to let life lead him and not cram reason and order into irrationality and disorder. 

He made his way back to the Elbe, walking along its edge and studying the anchored boats. Pausing beside the river, he raised his eyes to the gothic spires, hearing the rustle of the russet trees. And as he stood there, it occurred to him that sorting his thoughts was superfluous. After all, he understood plenty what he felt for Feliciano. Did anything else really matter? 

He didn’t know. But upon returning to the coffee shop, he did know why simply the sight of Feliciano’s turned back made him smile. 

However when he reached the table, his lazy smile turned to concern. There were several empty cups of espresso at Feliciano’s elbow and he was notably fidgety, continuing to cross and uncross his legs. Ludwig sat down, asking “how much caffeine did you have?” 

“I’m nearing overdose,” Feliciano said. “I thought… I don’t know, plenty of artists do drugs to spur their creative thinking.” He sat up straight. “Oh, that’s it! I’ve got to start doing cocaine!” Feliciano immediately shook his head, throwing himself against the chair back while gnawing at his knuckle. “Dammit. I don’t know where to buy coke.” 

“Feliciano,” Ludwig started. Feliciano glanced up from his gargoyle posture. “What is with this utter refusal to just take a break? I understand it’s your work, but it’s not as if you can work here.” Feliciano didn’t answer, tapping his pencil on the table.

“Because,” he muttered. Then Feliciano leaned his crossed arms on the table, nudging the mugs with their rings of dried crema aside. “I… Creativity, artistic expression, those are things I’ve always done well and really enjoyed. My whole life,” he added, gaze fixed on some uninspired point over Ludwig’s shoulder. “It’s my identity, and so now that I’m having trouble I feel…” He searched for the right word. “I feel like I’m not tethered to anything. I’m not myself.” 

“You can’t convince me you’ve never had this happen before,” Ludwig said. 

Feliciano shook his head. “No, but it’s never been like this,” he muttered. “And this, this is so… final.” His eyes were still blank, facing the opposite wall as he struggled to describe the feeling of the curtain coming down on his life. “I’ve lost interest in what I thought was my greatest passion.” He lowered his eyes. 

Ludwig pushed the mugs further aside to lean closer. “Is that the only reason you feel this finality? Since it’s unfamiliar?” 

Feliciano ran his fingers through his hair, staring at the table. “I’m scared,” he whispered. “I’m scared if I stop I’ll never start again.” Ludwig deliberated on his response, wanting to say something to comfort and merely not placate him. 

Ludwig wished Feliciano would look at him. Though maybe it would be worse, seeing that void expression he often donned, that of Phaethon at the bottom of the Eridanos. His chest burned for air, but when he could no longer stand it, when he gulped for oxygen, he only filled his lungs with the current. More amber drifted down to settle along the riverbed, it caught the sunset and stained his blistered skin with dancing bronze brilliance. 

“Listen,” Ludwig muttered. “Look at me, Feliciano, and just listen to me.” Feliciano raised his eyes. “Give yourself a break. You won’t give up on something you value this much.”

“How do you know?” 

“Because, as you say, I’m so smart.” That made Feliciano smile a bit. “May I see?” he added, and Feliciano handed his sketchbook over with a shaking hand. Ludwig turned the pages with subtle delicacy, following the contours of his drawings like he had the tram lines above the streets. He adored how Feliciano had drawn Berlin, incorporating the small romanticisms of his home city. 

“I suppose it doesn’t matter if I tell you I think they’re phenomenal?” Ludwig asked. 

“Yes it does,” Feliciano said. “Hearing you say that does make me like them more, just a bit.” Surprised, Ludwig smiled. Feliciano grinned back at him. “You know, I’m so glad I came on this trip with you,” he said. “I’m sorry I was being such a stubborn prick.” 

Ludwig shrugged it off, passing his sketchbook back. “I’ve had my fair share of acting like that,” Ludwig said. “And… thank you for coming with me.” 

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Feliciano said. “Why don’t we go for a walk? I think my heart might be about to explode.” Ludwig agreed, and they slowly wandered towards the tram stop near the Elbe. They sat on one of the surrounding benches, and the wind off the river brought spots of rose to Feliciano’s cheeks and tip of his nose.

They sat in silence for some time, until Ludwig insisted they needed to get back to the station. Feliciano dozed against the window on the tram, only lucid enough to board the train before slipping back under. 

Ludwig stared out the window towards the countryside, calmed by the gradual rise and fall of the low hills while dusk set in. He watched the sun set behind them, occasionally granting himself a look or two at Feliciano. When the sun fell in his eyes he rustled and drew his brows together, hiding his face from the light. Ludwig’ s heart softened upon seeing him nestle into his arms like that. 

He was finding it difficult to staunch the epiphany he had had in that bookstore. As he deliberated over all the words he could say, his throat withered and his pulse caught. Was Feliciano truly showing interest in him, or was Ludwig only projecting because he was lonely? But he couldn’t be misconstruing everything. Not when Feliciano smiled at him like that, and his eyes brightened whenever Ludwig spoke to him. 

Ludwig exhaled slowly, trying to get a grip on his thoughts which were rapidly drifting away from him. There were hundreds of other things to think about. Endless things. However, being in the train compartment made him think of when Feliciano had nearly kissed him. Nearly, but hadn’t. 

Opposite him, Feliciano frowned and slowly sat up straighter. He reached for his sketchbook to write something. 

“How are you tired?” Ludwig asked. Feliciano glanced up, thinking for a moment before remembering the caffeine spree. 

“I’m not,” he said. “I’ve just been thinking too much.” He set his sketchbook aside and rubbed his brow. “Ludwig?” Ludwig nodded, enamoured by hearing Feliciano say his name. It truly did seem sweeter in his mouth than anyone else’s. “Do I seem genuine to you?” he asked. Ludwig found the question odd.

“I suppose you do, yes,” he said. “I’ve never thought you weren’t.” 

“Really.” Feliciano sounded almost sardonic.

“Really,” Ludwig said. “Why do you ask?” 

Feliciano shrugged, catching a cursory glance out the window. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking. You know, Roderich’s moving out soon, with his girlfriend. So is Lovino and his boyfriend. They’re moving ahead in life and I am having a breakdown.” Feliciano exhaled with a derisive laugh, though Ludwig wasn’t sure he could be derisive. “I think I want to go home. I could see my dad, and I’ve missed living in Rome.

“I miss mundane things. Especially, on weekends I’d go downtown and sit on the steps at one of the Capitoline Museums. Sometimes I’d draw, but usually I’d just watch all the people. Occasionally I’d hear their conversations and I remember all sorts of fascinating little stories.” Feliciano smiled a bit. “You might scoff, but I liked getting to be a part of their life for a tiny instant. 

“It’s funny,” he continued. “I feel like I pretty much bolted after I finished school. Everything was so different, I just wanted out. I moved to Paris, even though I’ve never wanted to live there. That’s where interesting people go, I thought. They go to Paris.” He paused. “Why did you go?” he asked, finally facing Ludwig. 

“I’ve no idea. Maybe the same reason as you: for the intrigue. Though, I think Gilbert liked it because it was about the opposite of Berlin. It’s a changed city. Sometimes I feel like an outsider, even now.” Now he turned towards the window. “You should go home, if you want. Spend time with your dad, too.” Ludwig’s voice trailed off somewhat. 

“I know you can’t stand apologies, but I’m sorry you lost yours,” Feliciano said.

“Thank you,” Ludwig muttered. “Anyway, when you do go back, send me a postcard.” 

“A postcard!” Feliciano shook his head. “I’d write you letters,” he insisted, the energy spilling back into his voice. “And send you photos.” He leaned on his hand, smiling further at Ludwig. “If I do move back, you have to come visit me. I’ll take you around the city, like you did.” He grinned, sitting up straighter. “You could stay with me, if you wanted. I love having guests.” 

“I might, if I ever get to Rome,” Ludwig said. 

As he faced the window again, he resumed thinking about earlier. When Feliciano had nearly kissed him. He had been so afraid to speak, but thought if Feliciano kissed him the words might come. Ludwig recalled that look on his face, imploring, but for what Ludwig didn’t know. 

He leaned against the window. He didn’t know. He just didn’t know. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Want You So Bad - The Vaccines](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XTSVROl6b94)

Ludwig woke with Feliciano lying on his shoulder, he knew it before opening his eyes. Having him so close should have sent Ludwig into a crisis, he anticipated it, waited for it, but was met only with weariness. After all, Feliciano was always close, close enough to touch, and Ludwig loved it and despised it and resented his inability to say a meaningful word to him. 

Eventually Ludwig opened his eyes. It was raining again. Feliciano was nestled against Ludwig’s side with his cheek to Ludwig’s shoulder and a leg tangled between his ankles. Freeing himself, Ludwig made to get up but Feliciano sighed and moved closer. Ludwig closed his eyes again. How much more of this could he take? 

In the bathroom Ludwig ran the tap as cold as he could, ignoring the exhausted specter peering from the mirror. Frigid water burned his fingers, palms, wrists, then his face. Even as the fatigue weakened the ache in his chest still festered, unlike pain from any physical affliction. It just hurt. He wanted to go back to sleep, even though he ought to run and clear his head, regardless of the rain. 

Ludwig shut the tap off. He would not do this. He would not stand in this bathroom despairing and falling apart over Feliciano, particularly when he made no effort to confess, not in Dresden or any day that followed. 

Only three remained until they returned to Paris, where Feliciano would resume his ordinary life while Ludwig continued organizing the pieces of his. In November Ludwig would leave Paris for good, quelling any opportunity to further whatever their relationship was. Friendship, perhaps, but Ludwig’s friendships didn’t typically involve yearning or homoerotic undertones. Maybe he hadn’t been making the proper sort of friends. 

What should he say? Ludwig pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. A simple _I like you_ was probably plenty, but Ludwig didn’t simply “like” Feliciano. 

Deciding that writing his thoughts would be easier, Ludwig crept from the bathroom to grab his notebook and a pen. Feliciano shuffled into the bathroom, not quite all there, and Ludwig settled on the bed. He glanced out the window once before beginning to write. It only needed to be his initial thoughts, he could write them into something eloquent later. 

_I think I’m falling in love with you, particularly since it shouldn’t be possible for me to feel this way about you when two weeks prior you made me want to claw my eyes from my head. I don’t have a proper word, but ‘like’ isn’t strong enough, though possibly that’s because I really do love you and_ Ludwig stopped writing and scratched it out. 

Retreating to formality, he wrote: _I understand we’re not well acquainted, but I have feelings for you, so perhaps we could consider pursuing a deeper relationship, if that’s something that appeals to you._ Ludwig questioned where he had gone so wrong in life. Likely whenever he decided love confessions could invoke business transactions. 

Feliciano sat back down, giving a muffled mumble before bidding Ludwig a sleepy good morning. He pushed his hands against the headboard to stretch and smiled at Ludwig. Though that was simply how Feliciano smiled, it never ceased to seem like it was just for Ludwig, who slammed his notebook shut. Feliciano paused mid-yawn. 

“Were you writing about me?” He rolled onto his stomach, resting his chin on his hand. 

“Perhaps,” Ludwig said. Feliciano raised his eyebrows. 

“Knew it. Undoubtedly some vivid fantasy you had about me last night.” He nodded at Ludwig’s notebook. “Go on now, don’t leave out any details.” Ludwig informed him he was only writing about yesterday. “Damn. That’s so disappointing.” 

“Reality is often disappointing,” Ludwig said. “Though if I ever happen to have a graphic sex dream about you, I’ll be sure to leave a comprehensive statement in my out tray.” 

“Oh good.” Feliciano sank back against the pillows. “Documents take so long, though, I’m sure an oral report would be much quicker.” He shook his head, covering his eyes. “The things I say to flirt with you are ridiculous, I hope you know that.”

Ludwig blinked. “Flirting? we’re discussing proper protocol.” Feliciano groaned, but he grinned under his hands. He propped himself up on his elbows and poked Ludwig in the sternum. Ludwig winced.

“You know _exactly_ what you’re doing,” Feliciano said as Ludwig rubbed his sternum. “Sorry. Just do us both a favor and quit dancing around what you want to say and say it.” 

Haphazard sentence fragments and a few words tangled under Ludwig’s tongue. They were there, all he had to do was speak. Feliciano was essentially asking him to, but maybe a relationship wasn’t what he was insinuating. He might only be teasing and having some fun. The wind drove the rain into the windows as he searched Feliciano’s eyes for a hint of guidance. 

Ludwig sighed. “I can’t. I haven’t had coffee yet this morning.” 

Feliciano scoffed. “What an excuse!” Ludwig glanced at him, the words going stale. 

“Well, what’s yours?” 

Feliciano stopped messing with his hair. “What… What’s my excuse?” Feliciano lay on his back, hands over his stomach. The light was silver. It softened Feliciano’s features, accentuating the shadows along his jaw and down his throat, around his Adam’s apple, up along his collarbones and down to his neckline. Spots of alabaster brightened his cheeks and browbone, the end of his nose. Like white lead and black chalk, Raffaello’s fragmentary study of Adam. 

Feliciano closed his eyes. “I guess I don’t have one.” 

Ludwig drew a shallow breath. Feliciano’s fingertips brushed his knuckles. Ludwig’s frenzied heart contracted, the tumbling words and sentences under his tongue heavier and heavier. 

“Feliciano, I, I…” Ludwig set his notebook down and swallowed. “I’m, I don’t know how to articulate this, but…” His voice trembled. 

“It’s okay.” Feliciano took his hand. To Ludwig’s shock, Feliciano’s was shaking. 

“Come here, Ludwig.” He fell to his chest beside Feliciano. All the threads sewn through Ludwig’s ribs constricted at once, around his heart and in his lungs so he couldn’t breathe, let alone utter a word. 

Feliciano deliberated another second. Then he stroked Ludwig’s cheekbone with the backs of his knuckles. Ludwig’s eyes widened, he fumbled to compose a sentence all while words fled his searching hands. 

Instead he touched Feliciano’s jaw. Feliciano smiled, impossibly shy as he caressed Ludwig’s nape. With the edge of his thumb nail, Ludwig followed the curve of Feliciano’s lip to the sensitive corner. Feliciano twitched. 

“Ludwig…” Feliciano was breathless, as much as Ludwig himself. He nudged Feliciano’s nose to tilt his face but didn’t kiss him yet, the phantom feeling of Feliciano’s lips like static electricity. Feliciano hung his arms around Ludwig’s shoulders. They were so close when Feliciano said his name it caught on Ludwig’s own mouth. Said it once, once again, drew Ludwig against his chest. Was that Ludwig’s own heart pounding, or Feliciano’s? 

“For the love of God, Ludwig, _kiss me_.” 

Ludwig’s body went weak to the sound of his voice. Another second, another measure of rainfall, and finally, finally Ludwig kissed Feliciano. 

Those threads in his chest unwound, relieving the weight from Ludwig’s lungs, vibrating like harp strings. Maybe that sudden relief, the intense shock, the euphoric delirium and traces of sleep were at fault, but Ludwig was convinced no one had ever kissed him like Feliciano kissed him. There was nothing better than this. 

Ludwig leaned back to gather his breath, catching hints of Feliciano’s aftershave and the hotel cleaner in the mussed sheets. He took Feliciano’s hand and kissed his knuckles, the inside of his wrist, down along his forearm until it tickled and Feliciano giggled. His eyes were half-closed as he gave Ludwig a faint smile. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” Ludwig whispered. The words fell on a single breath against Feliciano’s wrist before a moment of consideration. It occurred to him that he had forgotten a pivotal word in that phrase—falling—but he lost any chance to correct himself. 

“You do?” There wasn’t a hint of teasing in Feliciano’s soft voice, his voice that Ludwig adored so much.

“Yes.” Ludwig kissed Feliciano again, longer, slower. Feliciano smiled under his lips, and that simple action rendered Ludwig fully hopeless for him, but for once he didn’t resent it. 

Feliciano put an arm around Ludwig’s shoulders and brought himself upright, breaking the kiss. He pressed his forehead to Ludwig’s. “I think I might be too.” Feliciano brushed his nose against Ludwig’s, grinning. Ludwig smiled, a trickle of dwindling adrenaline winding down his neck as it was replaced by rawness. 

The feeling might have made Ludwig anxious if Feliciano hadn’t flung his arms around Ludwig’s shoulders and hugged him. Ludwig smiled, smattering kisses all down Feliciano’s neck. Feliciano laughed, and it hummed under Ludwig’s lips. He snuck his arms under Ludwig’s and Ludwig snuggled against him, still smiling, still dazed with stars in his eyes. 

When Feliciano petted his hair gently Ludwig closed his eyes and turned his cheek, listening to Feliciano’s heartbeat. As the seconds trickled by it slowed with his breathing and Ludwig began to relax too, sinking into the warmth of Feliciano’s arms around him. Feliciano laughed again, and this time it warmed Ludwig’s chest. He closed his eyes. 

After some time he turned to smile at Feliciano, whose face was still flushed. He smoothed his hands along Ludwig’s jaw. “You’re so adorable.” He kissed the hollow between Ludwig’s nose and eye. “So, so adorable. And surprisingly affectionate.” 

“It’s something I reserve for certain occasions. Or people, I should say.” 

Feliciano grinned. “I’m honored.” Slowly he pushed himself into a sitting position, drawing idle patterns across Ludwig’s shoulders. He lay against Feliciano’s thigh, sliding a hand up his calf.

“By God you’re beautiful,” Ludwig said, kissing Feliciano above the knee. Feliciano ran a hand over Ludwig’s hair, giving a little laugh. 

“Thank you.” He dusted a finger down the bridge of Ludiwg’s nose. “And you, you’re absolutely gorgeous.” He sighed. “You know that, don’t you?” he went on, tracing the helix of his ear. Smiling, Ludwig hid his face against Feliciano’s leg. With a low exhale he sat up. Feliciano opened his arms, and Ludwig settled back against his chest while Feliciano wrapped his legs around Ludwig’s waist. One of his hands slipped under the collar of Ludwig’s shirt, around his shoulder. 

Ludwig breathed a small contented sigh, acutely aware of Feliciano’s hands, wherever they ventured. He murmured something in Italian, but when Ludwig asked him what he’d said Feliciano didn’t answer. Ludwig sat up. 

“I don’t do this to you. What did you say?” 

“You don’t because you can’t, since my German is flawless and I’d know exactly what you said.” Ludwig fixed him with a stare, and Feliciano shrugged. “Just marveling at your physique. Excuse me, but…” his hand slipped under Ludwig’s shirt, “ _good Lord_.” 

He grazed Ludwig’s back. “How are you allowed to know everything _and_ be built like a Greek god? Where’s the trade off?” Ludwig gave him another look. Of all people, Feliciano had absolutely no right to talk like that. If Feliciano hadn’t been so distracting with his hands all over him, Ludwig might have said so. As it was, Ludwig’s only focus was Feliciano’s touch winding down his arms, his back, drifting across his chest and down to his abdomen.

“Am I allowed to make inappropriate comments?” Feliciano splayed his hand over Ludwig’s stomach. 

“You may have _one_. Use it wisely.” 

“I’d better.” Feliciano considered, idly drawing his hand above Ludwig’s waistband. Reflexively he stiffened, and Feliciano’s hand stilled. “Ah, fuck,” he whispered. A shiver stung Ludwig’s stomach. “Wait, wait, that wasn’t my comment.” 

“Tell it to the judge.” 

Feliciano gave an indignant splutter. “Well, you said use it wisely, that was not wise, therefore I haven’t used it, Your Honor.” Feliciano said. He kissed Ludwig’s throat, softening his voice. “Besides, don’t you want to hear what I’ve got to say?”

“I suppose my curiosity has gotten the best of me, you were right,” Ludwig said. Feliciano assumed an innocently confused expression. Had he forgotten what he’d said on the train, or was he only being needling? “You know what I’m referring to, don’t you?” 

“Yes, but if I say that you won’t tell me what I want to hear.” Feliciano smiled, leaning to kiss Ludwig again. He planted a hand on Feliciano’s chest. Feliciano gave a soft, surprised inhale. His breath shaking, Ludwig pulled Feliciano closer as Feliciano’s legs tightened against his waist. 

“Are you listening?” His breath brushed Feliciano’s ear. He nodded. “I want you to fuck me, Feliciano. Hard. Just fucking use me, however you want.” Feliciano reddened. He’d stopped smirking. “There, is that what you wanted to hear?” 

“Oh, yes,” Feliciano turned and grinned at him, then closed his eyes and announced he was thinking. Ludwig asked him what about. “Tell me more,” Feliciano continued. “Be my muse.” Ludwig settled beside him, tucking his hair behind his ear. After some initial embarrassment, Ludwig murmured whatever details he could think of, spurred on by every one of Feliciano’s reactions. 

“I’m going to save my extremely witty response because holy fuck, Ludwig. I… You made _me_ feel like I need to shower. Or pray, or—” Ludwig brushed a hand along Feliciano’s neck. It gave him goosebumps. 

“Do that. Let me see you on your knees.” Feliciano muttered something that might have been an apology to God and hid his red face against Ludwig’s shoulder, reminiscent of how they’d woken up. How could that have been the same hour? The same day, the same anything? Ludwig smiled at Feliciano and pecked him on the cheek. 

“Oh?” Feliciano looked up, smiling back at him. “Can’t I buy you dinner first?” Ludwig laughed. “I’m serious! I want to have a proper date with you... We could get dinner tonight, maybe walk around the city a bit.” Ludwig agreed, kissing him softly. “If we were back home, I’d cook for you instead, and find a wine even you’d like…” Feliciano smiled as Ludwig nibbled at his jaw. “For future reference, what do you like?” 

“I believe I just told you. In detail.” 

“I mean food, Ludwig. Ugh, is _everyone_ obsessed with sex?” Ludwig rolled his eyes. “You won’t be rolling your eyes on Judgement Day.” 

“I expect not. I apologize for messing with you so much,” he added. He put his arms around Feliciano’s waist, and Feliciano nestled closer to him. “I’d rather you cook something you like, since I believe we’ve established you have much more refined taste than me. It’s something to look forward to, when we’re back in Paris.” 

“Yes, I do all the cooking anyway,” Feliciano said. “But there’s no reason we can’t go on a date here. Lunch?”

“We’re looking at a flat at noon.” Feliciano groaned. “Tonight,” Ludwig promised, kissing him on the forehead.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Sweet - Cigarettes After Sex](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pZ31pyTZdh0)
> 
> It's the unsafe work practices chapter

Ludwig arrived at the hotel to find Feliciano in the doorway with a paper bag held to his chest, greeting him with a shyness Ludwig had never known him to have. 

“So. I figured you didn’t want to go to an expensive restaurant, because you don’t ever eat much in the evenings and I don’t have anything close to appropriate to wear for that sort of date, so I went around and got us some cheese, sausage, a bit of fruit, some bread…” He nudged the bag. “I splurged on wine, too. I don’t know if you like Riesling, but it goes with the cheese, so… hopefully you do. I’m not sure where we could go, either, but I figured you might know.”

As Ludwig prodded the door closed, Feliciano fidgeted, the bag crinkling as he held it tighter. “Feliciano,” his fingers idled along Feliciano cheek, beneath his chin. “Why do you seem so worried?” 

Disappointment flecked Feliciano’s face. “Is it that obvious?” He drew a low breath, sinking against Ludwig’s fingers. “Well, it’s because, I really like you.” Defiance edged his tone, though towards what Ludwig didn’t even have a guess. “Because I want you to have a good time, and, and I want to impress you.” 

Ludwig ached anew at the affection and raw earnest in Feliciano’s eyes, and he brushed Feliciano’s lower lip. “Oh, Feliciano, you don’t need to impress me.” 

They kissed and lingered there in the reassurance until Feliciano led them into the hall. At the doorway he drew a soft little sigh, saying, “I wish I could hold your hand.” Looking at the mottled carpet, Ludwig wished Feliciano hadn’t reminded him even life’s most innocent joys could be denied.

And Ludwig craved holding Feliciano’s hand, to kiss him like a thousand words and chords and brushstrokes could never so much as echo. Instead they stayed close as they walked under neon, amidst chatter, washed in dregs of dusk-softened daylight. The evening smelled of distant bonfire and cold concrete, roasting chesnuts and cigarette smoke from the English soldiers milling by the Gate. A hint of bitter tobacco soured Ludwig’s tongue as he and Feliciano crossed into the East, past the poster of Stalin. 

They settled on the grassy patch across the Spree a few meters from where the Reich headquarters had been torn down, tawny from late autumn. Behind the Berlin Cathedral’s makeshift roof was the setting sun, saturating the river so it ran copper. Feliciano looked adorned in gold filigree, wrapped in beige shadows and sunlight. 

Hungry though he was, Ludwig waited until Feliciano had everything neatly laid out atop the bag. He had snuck two glasses from the hotel for wine, carefully wrapped in napkins. 

Ludwig turned the glass over in his hand. “This makes me anxious.” 

Feliciano shook his head. “I knew it would.” He made to pour Ludwig a glass, but Ludwig stopped him.

“Let me do it. In case, in case someone is looking,” Ludwig said, and Feliciano passed him the bottle and looked away. A boat lazed by, emerging from beneath the bridge. “I’m sorry.” Ludwig spoke to his glass. 

“You don’t need to apologize, Ludwig.” Feliciano took the Riseling back. “I like that sweater. I haven’t seen you wear it before,” he added with a smile. Ludwig smiled back. 

Though they spoke little, Feliciano stayed close beside him, only moving nearer when people dispersed as the breeze picked up and the night began to change. However, any cold inspired memories of Russia, of his face, of his voice like Zephyrus whispering wistful promises to Hyacinthus when Apollo dared turn his back.

Revulsion scraped along Ludwig’s throat and his hands got clammy, though he’d expected it; Ludwig could not forget him. He had lain beside Ludwig in his sepulchre of wax and sodden cypress, where Ludwig had closed his eyes and prepared to die down in darkness with a kiss from Helios lingering on his cheek. 

But he hadn’t. 

“Ludwig!” Ludwig startled, frowning when Feliciano took his photo. 

“Warn me first. You just wasted film.”

“ _Ridiculous_. Nothing could be wasted on you.” He passed Ludwig the camera and pranced backwards under one of the streetlights. “Take my picture, this exposure should be alright.” Ludwig peered through the viewfinder, the world only Feliciano under the streetlight with his nose and cheeks flushed from the wind or the wine or simply being with Ludwig. 

As Ludwig passed his camera back, Feliciano brought him under the light and stepped back. The pale illumination fell on Ludwig’s lashes, flecking his vision with stars. Amongst them stood Feliciano, holding his camera to his heart with an expression drowned in affection. 

Feliciano didn’t need to ask Ludwig to smile. 

“Stunning. I can’t believe you even suggested you're a waste of film,” Feliciano said. He gathered up the glasses and remaining wine. “Let’s go back to the hotel.” Ludwig asked if he was tired. “Not in the slightest.” He grinned.

Once they reached the room, Feliciano stood on his tiptoes and kissed Ludwig. He toyed with Ludwig’s collar button, laying a steady hand on his neck. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

Ludwig drew Feliciano closer. “Yes,” he breathed, and Feliciano kissed him again and undid Ludwig’s shirt. Ludwig broke the kiss to pull Feliciano’s sweater over his head. 

“Don’t drop that on the floor, it’s so nice,” Feliciano said, clinging to Ludwig’s undershirt.

“I would never drop your clothes on the floor.” Ludwig struggled to get the sweater on the desk as Feliciano backed up. Ludwig followed, tripping as he struggled not to part from him. 

“You missed the bed,” Ludwig said. 

“Mm, I know, I figured I should get a safety. I’m clean, but just in case,” Feliciano said hurriedly. “What?” he added as Ludwig pulled away and laughed.

“You brought condoms to a country whose language you don’t even speak. Are you really that confident?”

“Absolutely,” Feliciano said, rattling Ludwig’s sense of amusement. He kissed Feliciano’s clavicle while he rooted through his suitcase. Eventually he backed Ludwig into the bed where he dropped in a mess of Feliciano, whose hands went to his belt. Ludwig’s fingers tangled with Feliciano’s as he undid the clasp himself, and as he fumbled his trousers off Feliciano curled beside him to do the same.

Drafty air stung at Ludwig, quelled when Feliciano leaned against him and stroked his cheek. With tantalizing slowness Feliciano brushed his knuckles down Ludwig’s chest to his hip and along his thigh, from his shoulder to his palm. Again down his stomach, this time accompanied by his mouth. Feliciano’s breath skimmed Ludwig’s abdomen, followed by a flick of his lashes.

Ludwig closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, soothing the anxiety he had mistaken for excitement as Feliciano continued caressing him. His touch mirrored the aftertaste of _eiswein_ in its cloying sweetness, though once Ludwig relaxed further the care in Feliciano’s kisses came apart. He sucked Ludwig’s skin, biting down where he was most sensitive. It was a lovely harmonic contrast, the softness of his mouth before the sting of his teeth.

“I can’t believe you mocked me for being overconfident, just look what I’m doing to you.” Feliciano chuckled and grazed the inside of Ludwig’s thigh, making him twitch. “Hm, I like it when you do that,” Feliciano whispered. “Do it again.” He dug his nails in and Ludwig winced, grabbing at Feliciano’s waist to pull him closer. 

“Not so hard. Be gentle with me,” Feliciano said. Ludwig nodded, but bit Feliciano’s lip when Feliciano kissed him. At this, Feliciano snuck a hand through Ludwig’s hair, curving it into a fist and jerking his head back. Hesitation formed on Feliciano’s face when he saw Ludwig’s eyes well at the pain. 

Hoping to reassure him, Ludwig smirked at Feliciano and pulled him in, leaving a gentle kiss on his shoulder. Feliciano leaned over the bed, scrabbling for Ludwig’s belt. He sat on his heels and looped the tail back through the buckle. 

“Sit up and put your hands behind your back.” Ludwig obeyed, and Feliciano slipped Ludwig’s wrist through the first loop, then did the other. Faded leather rasped on the insides of Ludwig’s wrists and nipped at his skin. Feliciano tilted Ludwig’s face towards his.

“You’re alright?” he murmured. Ludwig nodded. Feliciano wound the tail around his palm and yanked the belt tighter, holding their gaze. “Still?” 

“Yes. I’ll tell you if I’m hurt.” Ludwig kissed Feliciano’s cheek, and Feliciano returned to his earlier crusade.

Feliciano never missed a slight smile or stuttering sound from Ludwig, who was stunned by his attention to detail even if he was a painter. He responded to Ludwig’s every voiceless cue, inspired by what he’d whispered in Feliciano’s ear that morning. He had listened. Remembered. 

“Hmm.” Feliciano sat back, considering. Ludwig took the opportunity to sit up straighter and relieve his arms. “I don’t have any lubricant, so…” he trailed off. Ludwig didn’t bother asking how he could access that without being married, given he had a key to the Louvre. Ludwig pictured him there, sheltered beneath Eros’s wing, while Feliciano lay between his legs. 

Ludwig jolted as Feliciano spit on his cock and jerked him off, sinking his nails into the belt and tipping his head back; _Saint Sebastian_ , Fred Holland Day. He gasped and crumpled against his sore arms, moving in time with the erratic tempo of Feliciano’s motion. His pulse quickened to match. So did his breath. 

Ludwig wanted to say Feliciano’s name over and over again, until it was a simple rhythm, but then he would stop because he never wanted Feliciano’s name to lose its meaning. However as he did, Feliciano pinned a hand over Ludwig’s mouth.

“Don’t say my name unless I ask for it.” Ludwig nodded hurriedly and Feliciano let go, running his thumb back and forth across Ludwig’s throat. Ludwig focused on the feeling to ignore the gathering ache in his arms, pinned under his weight. Feliciano slid back down.

Ludwig pressed harder against the bed and his burning arms, strain against the belt until it cut into his wrists. 

“You’re close already, aren’t you?” Feliciano asked. 

“Yes, yes.” Ludwig’s breathing was so unsteady he was shocked he could speak.

“Say my name,” Feliciano said. Ludwig did, but hushed in distrust of the thin walls. If only they were somewhere more private, he would have yelled it as loud as Feliciano wanted. Whatever he wanted.

Feliciano gazed at him with stripped adoration, leaning against Ludwig’s clavicle. “Say it again, say it more,” he insisted. “Such a pretty voice.” 

Ludwig repeated Feliciano’s name again and again and again, but Feliciano took his hand away. Ludwig glared at him, collapsing against the headboard with a defeated groan. Of course Feliciano just offered a simper and no word of apology, reaching over for the condom while Ludwig squirmed against the pillows.

Feliciano loosened the belt, kneading his thumbs along the red rings on Ludwig’s wrists and easing the soreness from his shoulders. He perched atop Ludwig’s legs, cupping a hand in front of his mouth and trailing saliva into the hollow of his palm, which he smoothed along the insides of Ludwig’s thighs. Warm and silky, not the repugnant sticky heat smeared across Ludwig’s body from kisses akin to being devoured whole. 

Ludwig’s skin crawled. “Will you wait a moment?” he whispered. He hid his face against Feliciano’s neck, catching the scent of cologne he’d stopped noticing after being with him so often. 

After a slow inhale Ludwig said sat back. “Okay. I’m alright.” Smiling, he bumped his forehead to Feliciano’s, pecking him on the lips before Feliciano sat back on his legs and continued.

Ludwig sat forward. “Let me touch you,” he said, rubbing his cheek against Feliciano’s shoulder. “Please, I’ve hardly done a thing.” He kissed Feliciano’s jaw. Again Feliciano’s hands were at his wrists and the worn leather, but as Ludwig perked up Feliciano gripped the belt tail and pulled it taught. Hanging his head, Ludwig crumpled against the headboard.

Feliciano pushed Ludwig’s chin up, holding his calm gaze on Ludwig’s. “Look at me while I fuck you.”

“Yes, Sir,” Ludwig said. Feliciano grinned, pinching Ludwig’s legs together with his knees before sliding between his thighs. He braced a hand above Ludwig’s knee, settling into a meter he liked. The delicate sounds Feliciano uttered forged new restlessness in Ludwig. 

Feliciano slid his arms underneath Ludwig’s, bringing him closer. Feliciano’s heartbeat danced under Ludwig’s mouth, even quicker than his own. Feliciano sunk his nails into Ludwig’s shoulder blades, dragging them down to raise welts along Ludwig’s back. Over and over again, the pain a suspended chord with the lavish rocking of his hips.

One of his hands fumbled to undo the belt, freeing Ludwig’s arms. Ludwig reached for him at once. “Hold me down,” Feliciano said. Ludwig rolled his cramped shoulders before pinning Feliciano’s waist, savoring the sensation of how Feliciano strained against his palms. Feliciano slid a hand between them, dragging his fingers lower and lower. Ludwig closed his eyes, coveting every last echo of this feeling.

“You’re shaking, darling.” Feliciano caught his breath to speak, his words against Ludwig’s ear. Ludwig didn’t respond, busy whimpering through his labored breaths. 

Feliciano curled his fingers around Ludwig’s chin and brought his face up closer. “Choke yourself,” he said. 

Ludwig’s fingers wound round his throat, an indelicate weight to Feliciano’s. 

“Harder,” Feliciano said. Ludwig tightened his grip, spluttering against Feliciano’s sternum. “Yeah, like that,” Feliciano whispered, kissing his forehead. “No, no, don’t look away. I need to see you, how many times do we have to go over this?”

Ludwig held his gaze, but when he came he closed his eyes and gasped because he’d pushed himself too far into lightheadedness. It strengthened his sudden rush but forced him to gulp for air, sending him into a coughing fit. Feliciano grabbed his shoulders.

“I’m alright,” Ludwig rasped. “Christ, I’m leagues better than alright.” He laughed against Feliciano’s arm. 

“I’m glad,” he muttered, wiping off his stomach. “Now, would you get on your knees for me?” Ludwig climbed off the bed and knelt in front of Feliciano, resting against his leg because he still shook. He stroked Feliciano’s calf and kissed his shin as his body calmed. 

“You’re always so impatient, except for now,” Ludwig mused. “I thought it would be the opposite. You subverted my expectations.” 

“I’m not going to rush you,” Feliciano said, brushing the tip of Ludwig’s ear. “And you know, I don’t think anyone’s ever told me I subverted their expectations before.”

“I’m honored to be your first,” Ludwig said, cupping the back of Feliciano’s calf. “You said you’re clean, I am too, so might we forgo protection?” 

Feliciano pretended to be lost in consideration. “Why do you want that?” He braced himself on his legs, his face inches from Ludwig’s. Ludwig kissed the side of his knee. 

“Because I want you to come down my throat. Please,” he added. Feliciano agreed, tossing it in the bin beside the desk. 

Ludwig rested his hands low on Feliciano’s waist, drawing his thumbs along his hipbones before taking him in his mouth. Feliciano’s breath tripped and he grabbed Ludwig’s hair, whining through his pressed lips. He grazed Feliciano’s legs with his knuckles down the graceful curve from his calf to his ankle. Feliciano tugged Ludwig’s hair, bringing his face up to kiss him. 

He hung his legs over Ludwig’s shoulders and leaned back on his hands. “You’re so pretty,” he said. “I can’t look at you, you’re so beautiful it makes my stomach hurt.” Ludwig raised an eyebrow. “Ugh, don’t do that to me!” Feliciano covered his face with his hands, blushing up to his ears. Ludwig chuckled, proud that he made Feliciano react like that.

He knelt back down. Feliciano nudged his heels against Ludwig’s back, sighing shakily. His fingers tightened in Ludwig’s hair, whispering Ludwig’s name with such adoration Ludwig’s chest constricted, losing his composure enough to jerk his hips against Ludwig’s mouth. 

“Sorry.” Feliciano spoke through his teeth. 

“Do what you want.” Ludwig kissed his thigh. Feliciano’s skin was sweet with citrus soap too faint to smell, salty with sweat; oranges and Adriatic sea salt. 

The moment he took Feliciano in his mouth again Feliciano shed his gentleness. He dropped onto his back, breathless with his hands still bound in Ludwig’s hair. He was captivated by this Feliciano, this restless, helpless, flushed Feliciano and all the subtle songs he sung. Orpheus, strung-out and shuddering. 

Ludwig didn’t stand until Feliciano let go of him, collapsing beside him on the bed.

Panting, Feliciano threw an arm over Ludwig’s shoulder and kissed them into dizziness. As his hand slipped lower he touched the scratches left on Ludwig’s back, drawing out a wince. Feliciano pushed himself on an elbow.

“Your back.” He touched Ludwig’s cheek. It hardly hurt, and Ludwig insisted Feliciano not worry, but Feliciano shook his head and clambered out of bed to get a cool washcloth. Ludwig listened to the water run, pressing his face into the mattress and grinning himself sore. 

Feliciano settled against his side, smoothing Ludwig’s hair and kissing his trapezius before pressing the washcloth to his back. “I can’t believe my fingernails are that sharp. I need to cut them,” he said. 

Ludwig turned his cheek. “I can’t believe you nearly made me knock myself out.”

“Well, nobody’s ever asked me to choke them before, I was worried I might kill you,” Feliciano said. Ludwig gave a shout of laughter and Feliciano frowned. “Okay, I’m extremely hurt that’s the hardest you’ve ever laughed.”

“You absolutely couldn’t kill me,” Ludwig said. “You knew how to do that,” he nodded at the belt. “Why didn’t you ask me to show you?” 

“Because I was debilitatingly horny, don’t ask questions you know the answer to,” Feliciano said, flicking Ludwig’s nose with the washcloth. 

“Debilitatingly,” Ludwig repeated. He closed his eyes, heavy and exhausted from the excitement of the day. He wrapped his arms around Feliciano’s waist to snuggle against his hip. Feliciano sat back and ruffled his hair playfully. 

“You always smell so good,” Ludwig said. Feliciano giggled, raising the cool cloth to Ludwig’s scratched-up shoulders. “But different at night, I think… it’s your lotion. I don’t know what the smell is, though.” 

“Excellent sleuthing, it is my lotion. It’s olive, but I think specifically olive leaves or something because I’ve never wafted an olive that smelled like that.” 

“That’s preferable, olives are… Well, I’m deeply sorry to tell you this, but I never liked them. Especially olive oil,” Ludwig said. Feliciano gasped and pressed a hand to his chest.

“Of course you waited to tell me that until after I’d gotten into bed with you.” Feliciano flopped on his back. “I’ve been used.” He turned his face away from Ludwig. “Don’t look at me, you’ve broken my heart. I shan’t speak to you again.” 

Ludwig kissed Feliciano’s knuckles. “I’m sorry, _liebling_. You’re taking this well. I’m impressed.” Feliciano opened an eye, fixing Ludwig with a look. “Am I not permitted to make jokes?” 

“I’m surprised, I really thought you’d get all annoyed at me. Look at you, subverting my expectations,” he said, then assumed an exaggerated glare. “What does ‘ _liebling_ ’ mean? Fool? That’s what I am, a fool, a _jester_ , sleeping with a man who’s too much a coward to have olive oil.” 

“I apologized,” Ludwig said. “It’s a term of endearment. Antiquated, but, so is most of my German vernacular. I’ll get ready for bed while you reflect on forgiving me.” Feliciano sniffed, but he smiled at Ludwig as he stood up and went into the bathroom. 

Once he was done he crawled under the covers, despairing when Feliciano kissed him on the cheek and went to the bathroom himself. Feliciano took at least twenty minutes on his nightly routine, often longer, so Ludwig put his boxers back on and picked up his notebook to chronicle the day until Feliciano finally Feliciano curled into bed beside him. 

“You’re forgiven. Please cuddle me,” he said. Ludwig set his notebook aside, opening his arm for Feliciano to nestle against his chest. “That was so much fun. All of tonight was. Did you have an okay time?” 

Ludwig kissed the top of his head, pulling the blankets tight around him. “The best.” 

“The best,” Feliciano echoed. Laying a hand on Ludwig’s arm, Feliciano traced the curve of his bicep with his thumb as he closed his eyes. “I’m sleepy.” 

“Me too. Goodnight, Feliciano.” Feliciano smiled as Ludwig kissed his cheek. He whispered goodnight and Ludwig turned the light off.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Zorbing - Stornoway](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AKM-jHmowig)

Feliciano stirred in tangled sheets. Warm, but empty. Too many mornings he had woken like this, hiding his face in pillows that smelled of someone else, replaying the previous night and hurting for them. He splayed his arms out. Too much space. 

But Ludwig was only out running or getting coffee, even if it was terrible coffee that made Feliciano miss Rome. Besides, he never drank takeaway coffee excluding desperate stops during a harried day of traveling.

Alone in bed, his internal debate about returning to Italy struck up again. Did he want to move back, or was he giving into a temporary period of unhappiness? Didn’t he like Paris, deep down? Feliciano pushed it out of mind, an unwise decision given how long he had been ignoring the question. Besides, now he had a possible relationship with Ludwig occupying his list of considerations. 

No, Feliciano was tired of Paris. He wanted his own studio, perhaps in a flat along the street where he grew up, near the piazza with its empty fountain. Maybe he would go to Venice. Florence, London, Lisbon, Madrid—any city whose name rung in his head. Feliciano coveted love even more, but entwining Ludwig with his future was getting leagues ahead of himself.

The door opened. Ludwig. Feliciano beamed into the pillow before sitting up. “Good morning, Ludwig! Did you bring me coffee?” Ludwig started and smiled, sitting on the end of the bed. 

“I did.” He passed it to Feliciano. The peacoat he always wore was scented with the city; industry and tobacco and coffee. It broke over Feliciano when Ludwig kissed his forehead. “How was your rest?” 

“Excellent. You’re so warm.” Feliciano set the coffee aside and took Ludwig’s hand. His fingertips were dusted pale rose from cold, a hue also diffused along his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, like chalk pastel. Feliciano pressed his face to Ludwig’s coat, breathing in Berlin and American cigarettes. 

“Would you wait for me to wake up next time, though? It makes me feel so lonely waking up by myself,” Feliciano said against the coat. 

“Of course, Feli.” 

Feliciano brushed Ludwig’s bangs back. “Why is your hair down?” he asked as Ludwig ducked his head to let Feliciano ran his fingers through it. 

“I ran out of Brylcreem,” Ludwig said. “It looks a mess, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all. You’re very handsome with your hair down.” Feliciano sat up straight. “Wait. Did you call me ‘Feli’ a second ago?” Ludwig reddened and looked away. “Aw, Ludwig! Call me that, no one calls me Feliciano except strangers and Roderich, because of course he does. He called me ‘Mr. Vargas’ for weeks, I had to beg him to stop.” 

“Did he?” Ludwig asked. “By the way, do you happen to have anything I could use? I hate having hair in my face.” Feliciano nodded, drawing the blanket back only to dive back under it when the frigid morning stung his skin. He hugged his arms around himself.

“It’s so cold,” Feliciano complained. Ludwig stood and got some folded clothes from Feliciano’s suitcase. “You’re so sweet,” Feliciano said after a small sigh. When Ludwig passed them over, Feliciano pecked Ludwig’s cheek. 

Tossing his arms around Ludwig’s shoulders, Feliciano laid back down and bought Ludwig with him. Feliciano hugged him hard, laughing as Ludwig kissed his collarbone. If only he could capture this in his art: warmth and delicious weight against him, the soft pull of Ludwig’s lips, phantom sunlight in his eyes and chest. 

Feliciano smiled. “Mm, you’re the best, my darling _giullare_.” 

“What does that mean?”

Feliciano swatted Ludwig’s shoulder. “It means you’re a medieval court clown! _Please_ wear some gloves, your hands are freezing!” Once his surprise faded, Ludwig laughed, murmuring about Feliciano being dramatic. “Only because I’m good at it,” Feliciano pouted, leaving a last kiss on Ludwig’s forehead before going to take a shower and dress properly.

Upon returning to the main room Feliciano found Ludwig occupying his customary position at the desk, writing in his notebook. Feliciano came up behind him and hung his arms around Ludwig’s shoulders, face buried against his shoulder. Ludwig kissed his temple and turned back to his work.

Resting his chin on Ludwig’s head, Feliciano asked, “can I do you hair? It’ll only take me a second.” 

Ludwig agreed, and Feliciano hurried back to the bathroom for a comb. “Tip your head back.” Ludwig rested his head on Feliciano’s chest. 

“Do you mind if I do it a tiny bit different than you?” He kept his touch light, graceful along Ludwig’s hairline.

“I figured you would, as you’re substantially more stylish than me,” Ludwig said. Feliciano laughed under his breath, well aware of that fact. Ludwig crossed his arms. “Those pictures you took last night… Who’s going to develop them?” The anxiety in his voice pinched Feliciano’s heart. 

“Probably Victoria, don’t worry, Ludwig. Besides, it’s not like you’re naked or something. You just had your arm around me.” 

“I know.” Ludwig glanced at the floor, but Feliciano straightened his head. “And this, this Victoria—”

“Is a lesbian more uptight than you. The same one who owns the hostel with Marianne, her—for all intents and purposes—wife.” Ludwig relaxed and Feliciano unscrewed the pomade on the desk, taking his time to comb Ludwig’s hair into place while he hummed quietly. Ludwig asked him what song it was. 

“Not sure. Something my grandma used to sing. It gets stuck in my head every so often, when I’m really happy.”

Ludwig tilted his head so Feliciano would gift him a kiss. “You taste like that awful coffee,” Feliciano said. “Let’s go downtown, I want to see the city one more time before we go.”

Ludwig’s expression stiffened as they walked towards the city centre. They paused at the Reich’s grave along the rustling Spree, where Ludwig glared at the Berlin Cathedral. Unlike the previous evening, no gilt adorned the river or the church, whose burned bones opposed the deepening daylight. 

Once again Feliciano thought of his family’s flat. The flowers in the window boxes. No different when his family returned after the war in July. It had been so hot, but the sky had been so blue. 

One morning that July Feliciano had biked to San Lorenzo, hoping to see old friends. His bike tires had crunched on glass. It glittered between the cobblestones that were still littered with cement and splintered wood. No one had told him about the bombs. 

He had walked his bike home, along Via dei Luceri. Walked faster, a bit faster, trying to escape the quarter. He had run, had tripped over his bike tire and dropped to the ground but couldn’t stand so he stayed there on his knees with bloody palms and screamed. 

“Are you alright?” Ludwig asked. Feliciano started, nodding hurriedly. “Let’s go back. I don’t like spending too much time in the East, it feels unlawful.” 

Feliciano nodded. He watched Ludwig scrutinize the street, like he was cataloging the changes that marred a once-familiar place. Ludwig wouldn’t look at the smattering of soldiers on the sidewalk, regardless of their home country. Did he resent them? What was it like for him, really like for him? Did he miss the days before, and wish he didn’t? Did he feel guilty, angry, still in shock? 

Again the ended up in Pariser Platz, where Feliciano sat on the curb amongst the columns and took a sketchpad from his breast pocket. He caught Ludwig looking at him and squinted. Ludwig raised his eyebrows at the sketchpad. 

“Oh, don’t give me that. I want to draw, I like drawing Berlin, probably because I associate it with you now.” Feliciano tapped his pencil on his lip. “But like pretty much everything I can’t pin down the exact feeling of it.” 

“I’d guess it’s unflattering,” Ludwig said, but Feliciano shook his head. 

Upon arriving in Berlin, it had seemed a monument to war; all concrete and knotted grey skies, air tinged with the tang of gun smoke. But Ludwig offered stories about the cinema and shops and even U-Bahn stations. In revealing the individual intricacies of his life he revealed Berlin’s. 

At that, Feliciano found himself entranced with the lifetime of stories in every stranger that he passed. The man holding his little daughter’s hands as she chattered away about the statue of Athena on the _Marx-Engels-Brücke_ and the two women smoking in silent solidarity beside the canal. The mother playing with her daughters ponytail and the woman laying on her husband’s shoulder to stare up at the blue sky. 

Ludwig checked his watch. “Our train leaves at noon. We should go back to the hotel to pack.” 

Feliciano drew his brows together. “You already pac—Oh. You want me to pack.” 

After Feliciano got his suitcase packed, he looked around the room with a sigh. “I’m sad,” he said, taking Ludwig’s hand. “I don’t like when things end. I always cry at endings.” Ludwig squeezed his hand and let it go. “I guess we’d better go to the station.” 

“I’m sorry you didn’t get the inspiration you wanted,” Ludwig said. Feliciano shrugged.

“Maybe not, but I got to be with you.” He kissed Ludwig on the cheek on his way to the door. 

They boarded the train past noon. Ludwig hurried them through the platform through people meandering about or watching the clock, staring down the tracks for their trains and drawing on halved cigarettes. Feliciano lit one while they waited but caught Ludwig’s look of distaste. He stubbed it out on one of the cement platform posts. 

To Feliciano’s excitement, there were compartments on the train. After pulling the shade down he collapsed against Ludwig, granting the luggage wrack a wistful smile. When the train began to move, Ludwig relaxed and absently stroked Feliciano’s hair. He rolled over to rest his arms on Ludwig’s thigh and watch the scenery clip past the window. Ludwig had finished his novel the day previous and sat watching the hills, his hand still on Feliciano’s head. Feliciano nudged Ludwig so he would keep playing with his hair. 

In the silence, Feliciano started thinking of the upcoming weeks again. What was he going to do, with Ludwig moving away? With everyone moving away? If only he could keep putting it off, enjoy the bliss of a burgeoning relationship. What was Ludwig thinking? As sweet as he could be, his emotions were rarely readily on display.

Feliciano nudged Ludwig’s side. “What are you thinking about?” 

Ludwig turned away from the window. “My brother. He must be worried. I didn’t call the whole time.” 

“It was just two weeks,” Feliciano said. 

“Well, clearly two weeks can make a world of difference,” Ludwig said, crossing his arms. “I… nevermind.” 

“What is it?” Feliciano asked. Ludwig shook his head. He nudged Ludwig again. “Come on, Ludwig, what is it?” 

“It’s nothing, Feliciano.” Feliciano pouted at Ludwig’s refusal to tell him, but he didn’t fight with him. Instead he just took Ludwig’s hand and held it to his chest, closing his eyes to drift off.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Hannah Hunt - Vampire Weekend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uDwVMcEHG70)

Feliciano left Ludwig at Palais-Royal station, exhaustion rendering his goodbye a tangled whisper that lost itself in the passing crowd. Ludwig’s fatigue, sallow streetlights, and black damask sky made their parting only a lovely photograph from a night Ludwig hadn’t lived. 

Ludwig woke past ten that morning. Feliciano’s absence prickled along his skin, soothed by the familiarity of home. Yawning, he leaned against the sill to look over the rooftops. Ludwig would miss waking to mansard rooftops, Haussmann apartments, rouge sunrises. It was bronze today, and geometric sunspots patterned his curtains, his tousled sheets, his forearms crossed atop the window sill. 

He studied the light playing along the fine hairs on his arm before resting his chin against them, noticing the sill had been dusted. Had Gilbert cleaned his room? Ludwig sunk down into his duvet. It was soft, freshly-laundered. Probably Gilbert again. Instead of feeling gracious, Ludwig’s stomach rolled with such guilt his whole abdomen hurt. He tucked himself away in the duvet, the sun in his eyes as he curled around the mass in his aching insides.

The window was cold as those on Bernauer during late December. Berlin in December, perched on Gilbert’s shoulders and holding his head so Gilbert wouldn’t drop him while skipping over spots of snow and ice. December when Ludwig pulled back his curtains and stared beneath streetlights to see if it were snowing. 

And Gilbert, who had just screamed and yelled  _ Verdammte Scheiße!  _ from the kitchen. Ludwig knocked his forehead against the window and pinched his eyes shut. 

He found Gilbert standing beside the sink, his hand under the tap. 

“What did you do?” Ludwig rasped. 

“Jesus Christ!” Gilbert clutched his heart. “Don’t creep up on me like that, you just induced a heart attack,” Gilbert said. “I had no clue you were home, I didn’t hear you come in last night. You make no sound, it’s freaky.” Ludwig apologized and asked about his hand. Gilbert gestured at the kettle on the stove. “Oh, just burned the absolute shit out of it. 

“Anyway, when did you get in? Was your train late or something? I mean, I was at the station for hours and didn’t see you.” Ludwig’s guilty nausea tightened his throat. 

In fawning over Feliciano, Ludwig had forgotten Gilbert would be there to take him home. Nothing else seemed worth considering when Feliciano had kissed him softly and brought him into the surreal night, towards the metro’s illuminated entrance. Standing under the jaundiced platform lights, Ludwig had felt he wanted to be with Feliciano more than the promise of living another day. Frightening, but irresistible as instinct. 

Ludwig dropped his eyes. “I took the metro into the city and got a cab here.” 

“Oh. I was gonna drive you,” Gilbert said. “Probably better. Friedrich doesn’t need your defeatism.” Ludwig ignored this. He had forbidden himself to ever again discuss or ride in Gilbert’s circa 1937 car Friedrich, whose doors tended to open when one drove around corners. Arguments over the car’s replacement were harrowing, particularly with Gilbert’s continued anthropomorphizing of the vehicle. 

Ludwig made himself breakfast while Gilbert tended his burn. Upon returning from the bathroom, Gilbert asked, “So, how was the trip? Did you get into Dresden alright?” 

“Good, and yes. Where’s the butter?” 

Gilbert passed him the butter dish. “Woah, woah, you don’t need to tell me  _ everything _ .” 

Ludwig frowned. “It was a pleasant trip, and I’ll admit I enjoyed having Feliciano along. More importantly, I found some viable housing options.” Bringing up Feliciano made him redden in embarrassment, which he hid by getting ham from the fridge.

“Ha, I knew you’d get along with him!” Gilbert gestured and flung cold water onto the table and Ludwig’s food. “Roderich said you would. Er, he said you wouldn’t, so  _ I _ was right.” Ludwig straightened. 

“You spoke to Roderich?” he asked. “You have his telephone number?” The question was probably a slap in the face to Gilbert, especially after Ludwig had left him stranded in the station last night. 

Gilbert gave a sort of wounded sniff. “Just where he’s staying. You want it?” Ludwig shook his head, though only because Feliciano had already given it to him in Berlin. 

“I’m sorry, Gilbert.” Ludwig blurted out. Gilbert frowned. 

“Uh, why?” Ludwig didn’t have an answer. Or rather, he had so many answers he needed to remember which one was appropriate for the situation. 

“Leaving you in the station, taking the metro. I should have called you, I’m sorry.” 

“You already apologized, it’s fine, Luddy, why are you all upset?” 

“I’m not,” Ludwig said. “I should have thanked you, too, for paying. But truly, you don’t need to do all this for me.” 

“Just looking out for you.” 

“I don’t  _ need _ looking out for. Please just stop.” Ludwig resented the rise in his voice. He resented Gilbert’s hurt expression. “Listen, I appreciate it, sincerely, but— It— But you do too much for me.” Gilbert shrugged again, failing to fake apathy. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You always look after yourself while I’m burning my hands and losing our keys down sewer pipes.” Ludwig stared at him. “What? I _ got _ new ones! There is just no pleasing you, about anything, ever.” Ludwig stared at the floor. 

After he finished eating he called the hostel, arranging to come by in the afternoon. As he hung up, Ludwig braced himself for Gilbert’s snide remarks, but he only said, “you know, Roderich’ll probably be happy to see you. I bet he misses you, he’s all sentimental like that.” With a stiff nod, Ludwig ducked back into his room.

The sun had moved. Now it ornamented the hardwood where his comforter spilled onto the floor and the crowded bookshelves. Ludwig yanked free a stack of papers pinned between Remarque and Hemingway. Notes about  _ Im Westen nichts Neues _ and a worn map of Vienna, inside which were train ticket stubs from Amsterdam and old Ektachrome photos from the apartment on Bernauer. 

For some time, Ludwig sat slumped on his bed, staring out the window with the photos in his slack hand. 

Seeing Feliciano that afternoon was his only relief. He was downstairs in the joint kitchen-dining area, making espresso. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, Ludwig heard Feliciano singing under his breath and loitered quietly to listen. Without its customary and upsetting volume, Feliciano’s voice had a comforting, melodic lilt. Ludwig knocked softly on the doorframe. 

“Hi, Feli,” he murmured. Feliciano brightened immediately. He tossed his arms around Ludwig, who hugged him hard enough to lift him from his toes. Feliciano laughed into Ludwig’s shoulder and snuggled against his coat. Ludwig edged them out of sight of the steps. 

“Did you miss me?” Feliciano teased, holding Ludwig’s lapels. “Hey.” Feliciano lay his hands against Ludwig’s cheeks. Dried oils flecked his fingers, a rough interlude in his soft touch. Ludwig was glad he had been painting. 

“Are you okay?” Feliciano lowered his voice, speaking softly as he’d sung.

“Enough,” Ludwig whispered. 

“You know you can talk to me.” His breath tickled Ludwig’s jaw. “But, but only if you want to.” Ludwig nodded, now guilty about preferring to confide in Roderich. Feliciano leaned back. “Do you want to see my studio? After I finish the coffee, I mean. It’s pretty sad up there, it might make you sadder, but no one else is allowed in.” 

“Sure,” Ludwig said. Feliciano kissed him on the cheek again before returning to the corner kitchenette. The stove was some cast iron relic of history long past, sagging against the wall, a fresh bread loaf cooling beside it. Ludwig sat at one of the newly scrubbed tables, slipping his coat off. 

Feliciano hummed in his lovely cadence, pausing when a man assumed to be Lovino wandered down the stairs. His irritated expression formed a sharp cast to his features, similar though they were to Feliciano’s. Stubbin g his cigarette out on the ashtray on the counter, he gestured to the moka pot Feliciano was holding and said something in Italian that made Feliciano scoff. 

Ludwig waited to introduce himself as they spoke, but Lovino gave him a disgusted glance demonstrating an introduction wasn’t welcome. Feliciano snapped at him and Lovino left the room with his hands up.

Feliciano pointed towards Lovino. “That man. That man is the biggest bitch you’ll ever meet.” Lovino said something from the stairs that made Feliciano double over laughing. “Did you hear that? Such a bitch!” Feliciano shook his head, but he was grinning. Ludwig forced a smile. 

“Sorry, I don’t speak Italian.” He cleared his throat. “Does he know?” 

“Of course he knows. Everyone knows. Well, not everyone in the hostel, just my friends.” He caught Ludwig’s expression. “Oh, Ludwig, he doesn’t hate you because you’re a homosexual. He hates you because you’re German.” 

“Well, that does significantly lift my spirits. At least it’s something completely within my power to change.” 

“Are you being sarcastic? I can never tell with you, you don’t inflect.”

“Yes.” 

“I apologize for Lovino. He’ll like you eventually, once he gets to know you.” Ludwig had magnanimous doubts about this. 

After they’d finished their espresso, Feliciano brought Ludwig into the attic. Worn floorboards creaked underfoot, the air so thick with oil paint and turpentine and age it coated Ludwig’s tongue. Against the back wall, an easel housed an unfinished sfumato painting of a muddled subject. Behind it hung a sepia-tinged map of Rome and a page from  _ Inferno _ with several quotes underlined in fountain pen. 

Feliciano cleared away sketches and empty paint tubes from the window seat, dropping them on a table choked with decommissioned brushes and sketchbooks. The frayed curtains were open. The city sprawled beneath the window in twinkling clusters of Haussmann buildings, broken apart by avenues comprising Paris’s heartlines. 

It was too narrow for them both, so Feliciano sat on Ludwig’s lap. Ludwig hugged him again, his nose buried in the thick wool of Feliciano’s sweater, which was a size too big for him. He was warm, he always was, and Ludwig brought him nearer. 

“You can see the Eiffel Tower from here,” Feliciano said. He pinched the miniscule form between his thumb and index. “When I move out, I’m going to miss this view. But I want somewhere with more windows. So it can be sunny. And I want high, high ceilings.” He flung his arm back. 

“Somewhere to put a record player, so I can listen to music, and enough room to dance to it. Windows that actually open, too, so I can have some fresh air.” Feliciano flopped his arm across his chest. “Am I annoying you? You’re all quiet.” 

Ludwig shook his head. “I’m just listening.” 

“You seem tired. Get some sleep tonight.” Feliciano kissed Ludwig’s forehead. 

“I never did anything touristy here. Did you?” Feliciano asked. Ludwig shook his head. “We should. Let’s go to the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame,” Ludwig smiled at the excitement in Feliciano’s voice. “Oh, then we could get  _ crêpes _ , the market around here has this great  _ crêpe complète _ place. Plus I just love walking through the stalls, since there are lots of pumpkins and squash in season right now, and people set them up all pretty. 

“Do you ever bake?” 

“I do, actually,” Ludwig said. 

Feliciano struggled around to face him. “Wait, really?” Ludwig nodded. “Get out of here! Well then, you can’t admit this to anyone,  _ ever _ , especially not Lovino, but I actually love French desserts and there are a bunch I want to learn to make, so we should try it together sometime.” 

“I’d love to,” Ludwig said. “But why shouldn’t anyone know you like French desserts?” 

“Treason.” Feliciano spoke so seriously Ludwig chuckled. “It’s not funny, I can’t let the French get in my head.” Ludwig pointed out that he lived in France. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean they have to win.” 

“...Win?” Feliciano didn’t elaborate, leaving Ludwig to ponder. For a while a hum of talk sounded through the floorboards, eventually interrupted by muffled but lofty piano music. Minor, adagio, but not somber. 

“Part of Roderich’s symphony,” Feliciano said. “Second movement, I think. Yeah, that one’s andate. He taught me to play parts of it.” 

Roderich played with few breaks, a gentle melody that dipped and rose without hurry but never dragged or got caught up in itself. Feliciano hummed along with it, tapping his fingers along Ludwig’s forearm in mimicry of the harmonies. He followed pitches drifting up and ones simmering below. 

“Is Roderich busy?” Ludwig asked. “If not, I’d like to speak with him.” 

Feliciano grinned. “Oh, no, he couldn’t be too busy for you. He was looking forward to chatting after you called.” 

Ludwig raised his head. “Really?” 

“Sweet Ludwig, of course he was.” Feliciano pecked him on the forehead before standing. “Come on, I’ll take you.” Ludwig got to his feet and followed Feliciano down the cramped steps, into the hall. Ludwig’s throat tightened. Zephyrus breathed in his ear. Ludwig resisted it. He needed to tell Roderich, so he could tell Gilbert. Then there could finally be forgiveness. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Salt and the Sea - The Lumineers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aUqRLL92gVI)

Roderich’s music halted when Feliciano knocked twice on the door. He strode right in, but Ludwig remained on the threshold, inspecting the room. Apart from Roderich’s piano and a stray music stand, it was barren, the aged hardwood bare with a dusky evening finish. A metronome clicked away on the piano’s edge, the tick of an erratic clock. 

“I know, I know, I disturbed you, but Ludwig’s here,” Feliciano said. 

Roderich rose from the piano bench, smiling at Ludwig. He wore different glasses from when Ludwig last saw him in a train station café some drizzly autumn day. The end of a hazy postwar summer, roughly six years ago. 

The coffee was watery, bitter, served in flimsy cheap cups. Ludwig’s hand had shook; it tasted like the mock coffee he’d drunk in Russia. They had spoken little, instead watched trains. Rain on the windows. Clock hands winding down the hour and up the next.

Following that fall day, Ludwig had written Roderich every month, impersonal details about Germany interspersed between sentences alluding to his apathy and exhaustion. Unlike Gilbert, Roderich had fought in the Wehrmacht; he understood the mark those war years left, a livid bruise Ludwig had believed would pale with time. But time weighed heavier on it, and Ludwig grew sore and feverish of living. His words dried up, his letters became shallow courtesy calls before nothing at all.

A year before Ludwig moved to France, Roderich graduated from university and sent him a Salzburg return address. However, Roderich never received the letter Ludwig sent back, having already gone to Paris. 

“Hello, Ludwig! How wonderful to see you.” Roderich shook Ludwig’s hand as Feliciano plopped down on the vacated piano bench. “Be careful with that,” Roderich said the instant Feliciano’s fingers touched the keys. He played the melody’s ascending portion, the final tetrachord lingering in tense air. Its resonance hung as if fog, the sort that sometimes seeped between Dresden’s Gothic spires. 

Feliciano turned over his shoulder. “Now, don’t worry, Roderich. I’ll be very gentle with your instrument.” He flinched. “Mm, poor word choice.”

“Only for a mind as sullied as yours.” 

“Hey, it’s not my fault that I think like that. It’s a side effect of the fact my dick is essentially a public utility. Imagine, if you will, the _nasoni_ —” Roderich cleared his throat loudly. “Be nice to me or I’ll smash these keys.” 

“Do unto my piano as you’d have done unto your skull,” Roderich said with customary calm. Feliciano scoffed and kept playing the measure, a beat off from the metronome. Roderich snatched it up and stopped it. “You’re clumsy.” 

“I’m having some fun.” Feliciano swiveled around, straddling the piano bench. “Are you implying I don’t know how to use my fingers?”

Roderich shook his head. “No need to remind you of something your lovers have told you countless times.” Ludwig was now prepared to abandon this effort altogether. Feliciano and Roderich did not belong in the same room, it was improper in every sense of the word: inappropriate, unacceptable, unprofessional, unethical, immoral, and arguably vulgar. 

Roderich pivoted towards Ludwig. “I assume you’d prefer to speak alone?” he asked in German. Ludwig nodded. “Ludwig would like to speak alone, Feliciano, so run along.”

“Run along! You talk to me like I’m five.” Feliciano frowned, but rose to leave. He paused on the threshold when Ludwig brushed his forearm.

“I’ll come see you after.” 

“Okay,” Feliciano smiled. “I’ve got something to finish up, so I’ll be working, but you can stay as long as you want.” Ludwig nodded. Feliciano pecked him on the cheek and stepped into the hall. 

Ludwig leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Congratulations,” he said. “On your engagement. Feliciano told me.” 

Roderich thanked him. “And how have you been?”

“Fine. Better than I was, at the very least.” Ludwig straightened his sleeve as Roderich sat back down. “There’s… I wanted to talk to you about the war. I didn’t mean to be vague on the phone, but…” 

Ludwig inhaled, too shallow to soothe. “I’ll preface by saying I’ve learned to live with this by now, but, but I’ve yet to tell anyone, and I want my brother to know what happened, that I’m okay, that he can move on with his life. But I need to tell someone else first.” 

He yanked his sleeve, twisting the stiff cuff between his fingers. “It’s… I suppose I’ve hinted at it in passing, when we’ve talked. I apologize for telling you this after not speaking to you for so long, it feels disrespectful.” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Roderich said. “Truly.” 

“Right.” Ludwig faced the floor. “It’s not about the war, exactly. More one of the soldiers on the front with me. In our company.” Ludwig crossed his arms. “He was older than most of us, nineteen or so, if I recall correctly. From Dresden, outside Innere Altstadt.” Ludwig focused on Roderich’s hands, folded atop his knee. “So we talked about Dresden, when I told him I used to go there. He sat with me at night.” 

Ludwig shifted his weight. “I remember he was extremely articulate. It made him pompous, but also gave him this sort of… trustworthiness. He was from an old money family, _old old_ , likely as far back as the Hohenzollerns. He must have spent half his life in private academies, he was level-headed about everything, so sure of himself, of everything, and I just… I admit, I admired him, lots of us did. We thought he could do no wrong.

“I don’t… Well, I can’t remember, but I looked to him like an older brother. He was like, like how I wished Gilbert would behave. Patient and smart, eloquent, interested in academia. 

“But one night,” Ludwig paused. He stared at the piano keys, white, white frosty ground on nights that were too clear. “He kissed me. I suppose I was happy. I still, I, I don’t know whether I ever had feelings for him. I admired him, as I said, and truthfully, he was charming.” Ludwig’s voice dropped off. 

“It got him favors. Well, that and whenever he asked for things, he kept them small. Small enough if he was denied, he’d pretend he couldn’t possibly understand why someone was unwilling to do such an insignificant thing.” Ludwig pressed himself flush with the wall. 

“Or he’d phrase it as _you’ve already done that, why is this so different?_ ” Ludwig crossed his arms tighter. “He did that to me. Pushed and pushed me, always little things at first. He framed it like I was making a choice, at first, but eventually he stopped pretending. He knew I knew I couldn’t stop him.” 

_He knew you_ wouldn’t _stop him._ Ludwig gripped his arms, trying to comfort himself with the pressure. “I never told anyone, because I was… worried what would happen to him.” Ludwig swallowed. “And I should have, I should have been smarter, and seen what he was doing, but I was lonely, I was scared, and I shouldn’t use emotional vulnerability as a shield, and it’s my own fault for not—”

“Ludwig,” Roderich interrupted. Ludwig met his eyes, trying to steady himself. “It was not your fault.” Ludwig appreciated his calm. Roderich moved aside. “Sit down.” 

Ludwig sat. Slowly, he let go of his arms, nearly numb. He gripped his hands in his lap to stop them from shaking. 

“I’m very sorry, Ludwig,” Roderich said. “You’re welcome to go on, if…” Ludwig shook his head. 

“Thank you for listening to me,” Ludwig said. Roderich nodded, stiff. Apparently at a loss for words, he commenced playing some impromptu, gentle melody. Ludwig was tempted to lean on his shoulder, but Roderich despised physical affection. Or verbal, as evidenced by the piano. But his presence and the hushed refrain he played were comforting in their own right. Perhaps Ludwig wasn’t so alone after all. 

At dusk, Ludwig returned to the attic. Feliciano was occupied at his easel, too focused to sing under his breath or chatter as usual. Ludwig didn’t interrupt the quiet; it was enough to be with him. Instead he sat beneath the window, perusing the sketchbook Feliciano had brought with him to Berlin, and studied his home city through foreign eyes. 

Proceeding an hour of quiet, Feliciano finally set his paintbrush down.

Ludwig raised his head. “Do you feel any better about your art?”

“Not really.” Feliciano massaged his wrist, scrutinizing the canvas. “But this is work, so I’ve got to get it done.” He pulled his heavy wool sweater back on, settling into it as he sat beside Ludwig. “Sorry for not giving you any attention.” He leaned against Ludwig’s shoulder and glanced at the open sketchbook in Ludwig’s lap. 

“I liked drawing Berlin,” he said. “And you. May I?” Ludwig shrugged his agreement, passing the sketchbook to him. 

“You’ve got paint on your cheek,” Ludwig said.

Feliciano smiled. “How cute of me.” He wiped it off, leaving a streak of sepia across his fingers. He flipped through the pages for a blank one. “So, what were you telling Roderich that was so hush-hush?” 

Ludwig shifted. “I’d rather not tell you, if that’s okay. It’s just… I don’t enjoy talking about it. I’m sorry.” Feliciano shook his head. 

“That’s okay.” He kissed Ludwig, holding his sketchbook held to his chest. He ran a finger down Ludwig’s nose, laughing when Ludwig’s scrunched it. “Just trying to make you smile,” he said. Ludwig did. Feliciano sat back to draw, and Ludwig listened to the soft scratch of his pencil. He closed his eyes. The shakiness had faded, and he took a low breath. 

He had taken a step forward, after years of stagnation. How hopeless everything had seemed under the sea, but how promising they seemed now, from the safety of Icaria’s shore. Sea salt still stung his lips, but the sun warmed his skin. It reminded him he could be happy, could bestow the painful burden of the heavens back to Atlas. 

Ludwig kissed Feliciano suddenly. He laughed in surprise. “You messed me up,” he complained. Ludwig apologized. “Oh, you’re not sorry,” Feliciano said, tousling Ludwig’s hair in retaliation. But then his smile slipped. “I wish you weren’t going back to Germany.” 

“Not until mid-November,” Ludwig said. Feliciano looked away. He sighed against the heel of his hand, only glancing up to correct his sketch. “Don’t worry, Feli. I’ll think of something. I’m a terrific planner.” 

Feliciano brushed his hair behind his ear, not looking up. “Mm, I got that sense in Berlin with your obsession with timetables.” 

“I have a schedule that requires strict adherence.” 

“Yeah, I know. I bet you have a specific time and day to jack off,” Feliciano said against his palm, his eyes flicking to Ludwig again. He erased the arch of Ludwig’s brow, then raised his head. “You aren’t correcting me.” 

“Well, I suppose I like to come prepared.” Feliciano groaned. 

“I was _joking_. But hold on, I’ve got a follow-up question. Is this a Pavlovian situation? Because, I mean, if you do it the same time on a specific day…” he raised his eyebrows. 

“Well,” Ludwig hesitated, “that’s not incorrect.” 

Feliciano went back to sketching, grumbling to himself. “Great, now I’ve got to memorize your goddamn jerk off schedule to know when you’re horny.” 

“Now you’re failing to apply the science correctly. Sex is an unconditioned stimulus.” 

“I don’t know what that means, but I don’t like it,” Feliciano said. “It’s ridiculous regardless, and I’m not good at schedules. Which is why if you make some complex calling plan, I’ll be terrible at sticking to it, I’m, I just, I wish you weren’t moving. Everyone’s moving.” 

Ludwig brushed Feliciano’s knee, and Feliciano hugged him. Ludwig sighed, holding him gently.

“We’ll think of something. I promise.” He kissed Feliciano’s shoulder. “I’ve got a few more weeks. Come by next Thursday, I have the night off, and Gilbert will be at some conference outside Versailles.” 

“Oh, are you still working at the Louvre?” Feliciano asked. 

“Yes. Starting tomorrow, for the next two weeks. I supposed I should keep a small stream of income.” 

Feliciano grinned. “Remember the night we met?” 

“Don’t remind me. I was such a dick.”

“You were. I almost cried.” Ludwig dropped his eyes. “Don’t worry, I forgive you,” Feliciano said, kissing his temple. “But _you_ probably wouldn’t forgive _me_ if I snuck by while you were on duty, huh?” 

“No. Please don’t,” Ludwig insisted. He took Feliciano’s hand. “I’ll compromise with you. Come by in the evening next Wednesday. I’ll be working the earliest shift, so if you happen to lose track of time, and end up staying an extra fifteen minutes…” 

Feliciano gave an exaggerated gasp. “Ludwig! That’s _against the rules_!” Ludwig frowned. “Oops. I take it back, I meant to say: mum’s the word.” He smiled to himself and returned to drawing, gently lifting Ludwig’s chin. “Like that,” he said. Ludwig closed his eyes again, growing tired as night roosted amongst the Parisian rooftops. 

“See, I like drawing you,” Feliciano said. “So that gives me hope that my creativity hasn’t deserted me.” Feliciano set the sketchbook aside and leaned against Ludwig’s shoulder. It was odd seeing his own face on that page, not a mirror image, but how Feliciano saw him. 

“I should get home, Feli.” 

“I know. Here’s your goodbye hug.” Feliciano hugged Ludwig and kissed him quickly. They stood, and Feliciano walked him to the door. “Goodnight, Ludwig.” Feliciano kissed him again, one last time, another last time, his arms around Ludwig’s waist. “Look for me Wednesday. You’ll know where to find me.” 

“How?” Ludwig asked. 

“Well, ghosts like to go back to their old haunts.” 

“Oh God, You’re not going to resuscitate that joke, are you?” 

“It never died. Unlike me.”

Ludwig shook his head. He kissed Feliciano goodbye again, smiling to himself as he wandered down the stairs. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [South London Forever - Florence + the Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lua-N4OrPKA)

Feliciano stood apart from the lingering crowd behind Eros and Psyche, made ivory as faded marble by gallery lights and gaudy evening. He turned his head, admiring a band of sunlight draped along Psyche’s waist. His distant smile showed beneath Eros’ sun stained feathers, features softened in dusk, sfumato, distinct against the surrounding statues; their entangled limbs, their eyes pervaded with ethereal longing. 

He caught Ludwig’s eyes. Smiling in the lustrous shadow of Eros’ wing, Feliciano mouthed a pronounced _boo_ , grinning. Ludwig chuckled to himself as Feliciano wandered away, avoiding guards ushering stragglers from the museum until its halls and galleries rang empty. 

Ludwig regarded the silence after the bustle of museum-goers particularly perverse and desolate. Most nights the only other witnesses to the eerie quiet were doomed heroes and star-crossed lovers, but Feliciano was here tonight, a masterpiece of Prometheus beside Canova’s. 

“I found you.” Ludwig’s voice was hushed, but Feliciano turned to its vibrant timbre. “Don’t get excited, we need to be careful. There’s another guard somewhere in this wing.” Feliciano nodded, sighing. Ludwig studied the hall behind them for several seconds. 

“But we’ll hear him coming.” Ludwig caught Feliciano around the waist, lifting him up to kiss him. Feliciano’s surprised yelp tumbled into a melodious laugh that suffused the arched room like a cathedral song. He smushed his nose against Ludwig’s, arms around his neck, washing Ludwig in scents of paint and turpentine, _colonia fieno_ and cigarettes. His favorite smells. Sometimes citrus, olive, seasalt. August, the Meditteranean. 

Ludwig set him down. “Good God, pardon me.” 

“You’re pardoned,” Feliciano said. He stretched out his arms and spun. “It’s like a ballroom,” he mused. “Do you know how to waltz? Roderich taught me to do the Viennese one. I’ll show you.” 

“Feli, I’m working. what if someone breaks in?” 

“I’m breaking in. It’s irresponsible to leave me unwatched, I could snatch a painting or leave my gross little fingerprints all over the statues.” Ludwig sighed, inspiring a victorious smile from Feliciano. 

“Fine. Six minutes. Rest assured we won’t exceed that: I have the finest tuned internal clock of anyone.” Ludwig turned his good ear towards the hall. An interruption was doubtful, but knowing that didn’t ease Ludwig’s worry. However he also knew he’d never again waltz in the Louvre at night, and with Feliciano Vargas, breathtaking, irresistible, adoring Feliciano Vargas. 

Feliciano lay Ludwig’s hand below his arm, and Ludwig gently held Feliciano against his chest. “Okay, first… Hm. I don’t quite remember.” Feliciano considered. “Uh, I think… go right from your right foot like this,” he demonstrated, guiding Ludwig right. “Clockwise. Wait, no! Counterclockwise.” He attempted an abrupt turn, tripping over Ludwig because he hadn’t. Ludwig brought him upright. 

Feliciano laughed. “I’m a _horrible_ teacher. Don’t bite my head off, okay, I’m trying. I just have to remember.” He stepped back to try the steps, murmuring to himself. “Forward right, left, close. Then turn, left forward, right side, cross, back close.” He kept his arms poised as if still around Ludwig, dancing with an unseen spectre amongst plinths of ill-fated lovers and gods and heroes, turning, reversing, lithe and lovely. 

“Was I meant to be taking notes?” Ludwig asked when Feliciano finally paused.

“You _weren’t_?” 

“Very funny.” 

“I’m being serious,” Feliciano said. “No I’m not! Here…” he led Ludwig through the steps slowly, away from the statues towards the gallery’s centre. Feliciano kept count, giving a gradual lilt to the recursive _one-two-three-one-two-three_. His voice went breathless as Ludwig became more comfortable with the steps and moved more quickly. 

Ludwig halted beside Psyche. “The seven minutes are up.” Breathing hard with flushed cheeks, Feliciano slumped against Ludwig’s chest, appreciating the extra minute. “It’s a quarter past, you should go.” Feliciano sighed. “I’m only working five hours. You can wait at my apartment, if you like.” Ludwig kissed his forehead. 

Feliciano closed his eyes and smiled. “Okay.” He stepped back and offered his arm. “Will you escort me out?” 

“To the end of the gallery.” Ludwig took his arm and walked him to the threshold, where he folded Feliciano’s hand around his keys. “Be careful with these. Don’t lock me out.” 

Feliciano nodded, stashing the keys into his pocket and promising to wait for him. Ludwig smiled to himself and turned down the opposite hall, following his typical route. Pausing at a gallery off the anteroom, Ludwig put his face in his hands, smothering his grin and seemingly perpetual blush. Even if it were only a rosy hue from new romance, Ludwig delighted in how distinctly wonderful everything seemed in this moment. 

It hadn’t faded when Ludwig returned home that night. Feliciano had left the door unlocked for him and put one of Gilbert’s records on, a Belgian singer supposedly in his and Roderich’s class in Vienna. Feliciano himself was perched on Ludwig’s bed, beside which were cardboard boxes occupied by a portion of Ludwig’s library: unimportant French grammar guidebooks and novels he’d read as a child that were cloying with sentimentality. 

“ _Ciao_ , _amore_.” Feliciano spoke with a teasing air, leaning on his knees. There was an open book on his lap. “Sorry I put music on, I just got nervous by myself. And I’ve never seen the German translation of my papa’s writing. You really wrote a lot in this thing, huh?” He scrutinized the pages, flipping through them idly. “He would love it. It’s so cute.” Ludwig snatched it back and stuffed it on the shelf beside a Schiller anthology. 

“It is not.”  
“Is.” Ludwig shook his head in capitulation. “Will you dance with me again?” Feliciano asked, offering his hands. 

“We can try, but there’s hardly any room.” 

“We’ll move the furniture. You’re strong.” 

“That’s true. Let me move it, I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Ludwig said. Feliciano scoffed, but made no effort to help when Ludwig moved the furniture from the apartment’s centre. 

“Why do you seem so worried?” Feliciano asked, touching Ludwig’s cheek lightly. Ludwig’s heart beat hard but lively under his ribs. He rested his hand over Feliciano’s, kissing the center of Feliciano’s palm and across his heartline. His breath tickled Feliciano’s wrist. 

“I… You still make me nervous.”

“I do?” Feliciano grazed his thumb across Ludwig’s lip. “Oh Ludwig, I absolutely adore you,” he murmured. “Don’t ever forget that.” He caressed Ludwig’s knuckles, leaning to kiss him. Ludwig hesitated a moment, savoring that subtle breadth where their lips nearly touched, when he reveled in knowing he was going to kiss this man he loved so much. When he lost the tick of his heartbeat and found Feliciano’s. 

After a soft breath, Feliciano kissed him. Ludwig would be content to drown all over again in this, this pure, rich happiness that made life worth living. 

Feliciano wore a gauzy smile as he backed away to turn the music up. “Now come on, dance with me.” 

As in the Louvre, Feliciano was graceful and absolutely gorgeous, always up on his toes. It was wrong for him to be here, such an unremarkable place. He should be dancing that Louvre gallery, a place striking and spectacular as himself. 

He huffed at Ludwig, who was hardly moving.

“I’m going to embarrass myself in front of you,” Ludwig said. 

“You can’t.” Feliciano was out of breath, though he didn’t slow down. “I’m not a dancer, I’m just doing random shit to a beat. It’s not difficult. I don’t believe in bad dancing, except for a few certain individuals.” 

“Well, I’m ready to become certain individual number three.”

Feliciano laughed, enough to make Ludwig smile. “Then you would have to be _fabulously_ bad. Go on, impress me with your horrible dancing. If it’s mediocre horrible I’ll be mad you wasted my time.” He ruffled Ludwig’s hair slightly.

“Let your hair down a bit,” he teased, taking Ludwig’s hands and returning to his dancing. He stuck to a side-to-side motion so Ludwig could stay with him. 

Ludwig followed his lead, though not as light on his feet. Feliciano didn’t care, just happy Ludwig was dancing with him rather than swaying awkwardly off to the side. 

At the song’s end, Felicianp spun himself against Ludwig’s chest, panting as he rested on Ludwig’s shoulder. “You,” Feliciano took a breath, “wasted my time. I knew you couldn’t be certain individual number three. You’re a good dancer.” Ludwig raised an eyebrow. “Really!” 

The next song was slower, which Ludwig was glad for. He was tired, and the slow, gentle dance Feliciano led was comforting. Feliciano drew Ludwig near to him, never stepping too far away, treasuring the closeness. Ludwig kissed him, long and sweet and slow even as they still moved slowly to the music. His skin was hot from spent energy. 

“I’m sleepy,” Feliciano murmured. “Can I stay with you tonight?” 

“Of course, Feli.” Ludwig crouched down to stop the record. Feliciano knelt beside him. 

“I can see the Roderichian influence on your music collection,” he said. Ludwig chuckled. 

“Well, I like classical when I study.” He flipped through the records, stashed in a potato crate from Bavaria. “This one has “ _Abendlied_ ,” the version I like. Proper dynamics.” Feliciano smiled, resting his arms across Ludwig’s shoulders as he put the record on, gently guiding the needle to the song. It crackled softly, the record dustier than the previous. Like in the Dresden record store, Ludwig played the song twice. 

“Dust again?” Feliciano asked at Ludwig’s teary eyes. 

“No,” he said. “I’m plain crying.” 

“Ludwig…” Feliciano held Ludwig’s head against his chest. “It’s okay.” He kissed Ludwig’s hair. Ludwig hugged him. Paint, turpentine, cologne, cigarettes. 

Feliciano followed Ludwig into his bedroom, drawing the curtains after casting his gaze down the avenue. 

“I’m sleeping naked, I hate sleeping with my clothes on. Hopefully that’s not offensive in the Beilschmidt household.” It was, but an exception could be made. Feliciano left his clothes beside the moving boxes and buried himself under Ludwig’s comforter. Ludwig folded his on his desk chair. 

Feliciano nuzzled against the pillows, and Ludwig flicked off the light and slipped under the covers with him. He raised an arm for Feliciano to curl up against him. Feliciano kissed him again, and Ludwig was enamoured with the soft pull of his mouth under the warmth of the blankets, the familiarity of home entwined with the familiarity of him. 

Feliciano stroked his jaw lightly. “Goodnight, Ludwig.” 

“Feli?”

“Hm?” 

“I’m aware this probably sounds odd, but… would you keep talking for a few minutes? I just… I like your voice. Say whatever you want, if you want.” 

“I do want.” Feliciano considered for a moment, leaning on his forearm. Ludwig closed his eyes when Feliciano stroked his cheek, so lightly Ludwig wasn’t sure when he stopped, neither when his voice dropped away, but it didn’t matter. Feliciano would be with him in the morning, and for many mornings after, whatever happened. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back on my bullshit writing dancing scenes I just think they’re neat


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I Fought in a War - Belle & Sebastian](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mKRDa6LTxU8)

With morning came staccato rainfall and a clinging smell of damp sidewalks and streets. Feliciano’s body heat suffused through downy folds of the duvet, a handful of which he held bunched to his chest. It draped from beneath his shoulder like a chlamys, falling from the bow of his bare back. Ludwig dusted his knuckles along Feliciano’s spine, kissed his shoulder blade. 

Feliciano’s cheek twitched as he smiled, bracing a hand on the window sill to stretch. Ludwig kissed the spot again, his trailing touch warm and gentle along the Feliciano’s side. Feliciano bumped his forehead with Ludwig’s, still smiling when he whispered good morning. 

“Did you sleep okay?” Feliciano cradled Ludwig’s cheek. In truth, Ludwig hadn’t slept until after three, but he nodded. Feliciano hugged Ludwig’s arm against his chest and grazed his fingers back and forth along Ludwig’s knuckles. “I’m sure it’s good to be home.”

Ludwig lay his cheek on Feliciano’s shoulder, peering through the parted curtains down on the slick streets and vanishing taillights. Feliciano studied the gauzy grey clouds, rain shadows falling across his face. Ludwig’s eyes closed as rain drove against the window and Feliciano drew the comforter close around them before kissing Ludwig’s forehead. Ludwig liked having him close, listening to the faint rain while Feliciano stroked his arm softly. 

“Feli…” Ludwig nudged him “My brother will be home in an hour or so.”

“Aw, I thought you were going to say something romantic,” Feliciano said. 

“Why would you think that? I”m awful with words, I’d have thought you’d learned that by now. And romance ruins my professional attitude.” 

Feliciano sighed, bringing Ludwig’s arms back around himself. “You say you’re awful at everything,” he said. “You can’t dance, you can’t this, you can’t that.” He hesitated. Ludwig dissented, but Feliciano cut him off. “You do. I worry about you. I’d do it constantly if I thought you’d tolerate it.” 

“I don’t. I’m fine.” He kissed Feliciano’s forehead. “But you should go, before my brother gets home.” Feliciano grumbled and stood up to dress. Ludwig changed and started the coffee. Feliciano yawned loudly as he dressed, padding into the kitchen and glancing out the window. Ludwig left the coffee grinder to kiss Feliciano’s neck. 

Feliciano giggled in surprise, tucking his chin to his shoulder. Ludwig did it again, and Feliciano cradled Ludwig’s cheek. Ludwig snuck his arms around Feliciano’s hips and held him close, listening to the rain on the windows. Ludwig made sure to schedule another date with him before they parted after the coffee. 

Ludwig was exhausted from his off-kilter sleeping schedule and resigned himself to the couch. He gave a valiant attempt to read, sitting upright when the door opened. 

Gilbert threw his keys on the kitchen counter and tossed himself onto the couch. “I fucking hate those conferences,” he said by way of greeting. “This is why we need a Socialist revolution. Boredom is alienating us all from society.” He crossed his arms, staring at the ceiling. “Ach, I really miss the SPD.”

“I’m sure.” Ludwig set his book aside. “Gilbert, I, I think we should talk.” 

“ _We should talk_? Oh God, are you about to fraternally break up with me? After everything we’ve been through?” Ludwig didn’t respond, and Gilbert dropped his joking airs. “Oh no. You knocked someone up.” 

Ludwig jolted. “What? No! Why is that the first thing you thought of? I…” He stared at the carpet, picking at his thumbnail. “I just thought… Well. It’s long overdue. We need to talk about what happened. Dad, and the war.” Gilbert’s smile faltered. 

“Ah, I see, all that. Yeah.” He waved it away. “But I really thought you were going to tell me you got some chick pregnant,” he said. “You’d be such a tightass dad, but I’d get to be the cool uncle.” 

“I don’t like children. They’re undisciplined. I would rather have some dogs,” Ludwig said.

“Typical.” Gilbert stood up. “We can talk tonight, I guess. We can go the bar. The one with German beer, not that nasty French shit.” Ludwig nodded. He hadn’t been there alone since seeing Feliciano that October night, before traces of winter and November dragged on the wind. 

They sat neat the end of the bar, beside the corner Ludwig used to sit alone. Ludwig tried taking a few calming sips of beer, but struggled to swallow around the lump in his throat. 

“I know this is awkward,” he started. “But I owe you an explanation.” Gilbert shrugged, flicking the side of his glass. The abruptness was making Gilbert uneasy. Though, it wasn’t really abrupt, given that he and Ludwig had been tense with him since the war’s end. 

Initially it was petty comments over Ludwig preferring Roderich’s company to Gilbert’s. Ludwig hadn’t seen much combat, but enough to gravitate towards Roderich’s measured disposition and softer voice. Gilbert’s erratic boisterousness was startling, especially as Ludwig adapted to his uneven hearing. 

Then it was arguments over Ludwig’s refusal to visit their father in the hospital; Ludwig was terrified of seeing him like those dying men on the front, but Gilbert took his fear as indifference. Ludwig had withdrawn even further when he died, and Ludwig doubted his brother could forgive that abandonment. But Ludwig needed to try. 

“I understand saying sorry doesn’t do much justice.” Ludwig’s reflection in the bar was faint. Hazy, out of focus. The second hand on Gilbert’s watch was broken; stuck on the five. “But… But I’m sorry about… About everything, I suppose. How I acted after I came home. I’ve never properly apologized for it.” Gilbert rounded his shoulders, still flicking the side of his beer. Ludwig’s ear rung, and he put a hand over it. 

“Did you kill someone?” Gilbert sipped his beer, but he didn’t swallow for several seconds. “Dad said he thought you might’ve killed someone.”

“No.”

“Oh.” Gilbert flicked his beer again. Winced when he did it too hard. “I thought… I mean, you know, those guys in your squad said you were a good soldier, so I kinda assumed… The guys at the hospital, I mean. They said you were really brave, smart, all that.” 

“That’s what all soldiers told families about their dying sons. It doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Yeah, well, I believed it, because that sure as shit sounded like you.” Gilbert nudged Ludwig’s arm. 

Ludwig’s gaze skimmed over the bottles of wine and whiskey. Bitter whiskey, dregs of tobacco, imitation coffee. Too much bitterness along the German lines, he wanted something sweet. 

“It’s… something else.” Ludwig’s hands shook worse than when he had spoken to Roderich; he couldn’t even hold his glass. Instead he set his hands in his lap and pinched his fingers still with his thighs. But he could do nothing about his voice, how it stumbled over simple words and caught on stray syllables. Ludwig wished Gilbert would interrupt to give him time to gather his thoughts, but Gilbert didn’t speak until Ludwig had gotten quiet. 

“Well.” Gilbert crossed his arms. “Well, I’m going to kill that guy.” Gilbert’s hand trembled when he picked up his beer, the other curled into a fist. “I’m going to find him and bisect his dick with rusty scissors. I’m serious, Ludwig, I will fucking _kill_ him.” He opened his fist and closed it again. “Unless you want to. You should have done it already, should have shot him through the head.” 

Ludwig pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. He struggled to breathe right, as if his lungs were failing, as if he were drowning. That bitterness in his mouth, like stale seawater, burning in his throat. It hurt his chest. 

“I’m sorry, Gilbert, I’m so sorry.” 

“Why in fuck’s name are _you_ apologizing?” Gilbert gripped Ludwig’s shoulder, but Ludwig refused to face him. 

“Because…” Ludwig dug his nails into his scalp. It stung. “Because I’m such a coward, and this is my own fault for not being more careful.” 

“Your fault? _Your_ fault? Do you have a screw loose?” Gilbert’s voice was almost loud enough to interrupt the bustle of background noise. “ _He_ should have known better, that piece of shit cunt. Just, Jesus Christ Almighty, Ludwig, stop apologizing.” 

Ludwig faced the war poster, deafened by the ring in his ear. His fumbled speech, his fear, his wish that Gilbert would comfort him; it was all so juvenile. As if he were young enough to believe Gilbert knew every secret in every unexplored corner of the universe, young enough to trust him when he said everything would be alright. 

“But I owe you an apology,” Ludwig whispered. “I do. I took everything out on you, and you always do so much for my sake.” 

“It’s alright. Really, Lud, I’m not that angry or anything.” Gilbert hesitated before patting Ludwig’s shoulder. 

“And I guess I should apologize too. For not, I don’t know, looking out for you more and all that.” Gilbert let go and sipped his half-empty beer. “Dad always asked if you were getting better, when I visited him. He knew he was dying, but he was only freaked about losing you.” Ludwig gripped his hands in his lap. 

“I told him I’d look after you and… yeah. Sorry.” Gilbert picked at the bar. Voices hummed along around them, broken by interludes of laughter and the clinks of glasses. Someone had left their matches beside the ashtray beside Gilbert. 

“I forgive you. But…” Ludwig gathered his breath, and Gilbert tensed. “You should know, even if you think you didn’t help me, I only stayed alive because I… I thought it would have been too selfish to die. Unfair to you.” Gilbert paled. Ludwig studied his watch. The worn leather strap and broken second hand, whose tick Ludwig would listen for when Gilbert used to sleep outside his room. 

“I’m alright,” Ludwig said. “For once I truly mean it. I’m alright. You don’t need to worry so much.” 

“I’m always going to worry about you. You’re my little baby brother.” Gilbert mussed Ludwig’s hair, but Ludwig jerked away. 

“Well, thank you,” Ludwig said, flattening his hair. “For everything.” Gilbert nudged his elbow affectionately. “I assume you’ll stay here after I move, unless… Are you going back to Vienna?” 

“Oh God no, I hated university, and don’t get me started on the Austrian shitshow. I’m not sure what I’ll do, but I’m not worried; lots of people are at a crossroads right now, trying to get their life plans back on track after the whole world war thing. I mean, not that I really had any life plans to begin with.” Gilbert paused. “Did you… talk to Roderich? I mean, he’s probably better with all that… emotional stuff.” Ludwig laughed. 

“What? I told him first because he isn’t emotional, other than the constant irritation. He hardly responded, just played the piano.” 

Gilbert grinned. “Course he did. No one ever taught him to use his words, so that’s how he shows emotion. All his parents taught him were piano and hot lemon water.” Ludwig squinted. “Oh, right. At uni, he always had this, like,” Gilbert pantomimed awkwardly, “ _huge_ thing of hot lemon water. I tried making fun of it but he just drilled me about how lemon is crucial for inducing salivation lubricate your throat. For singing, I mean.” 

“I thought tea helps your voice?” 

“It’ll dry out your vocal cords. Tea, sugar, coffee… all that stuff is bad for singing, so he wasn’t supposed to drink it, but, I mean, he can’t function without that shit in his system. I caught him having coffee downtown once, and the way he reacted you’d have thought I found him shooting up in a back alley. It was really weird and honestly uncomfortable.” 

Gilbert shrugged. “Ah, well. He’s prissy as all fuck, but I guess he’s not awful.” Gilbert raised a finger. “Important distinction: when he’s not talking about throat lubrication.” 

“I imagine that is quite uncomfortable,” Ludwig said. Gilbert nodded, eyes widening in remembered horror. 

“You know, Lud, we should talk more often. That wasn’t so bad,” Gilbert said. “Besides, what’s better than being with me? _Nothing_ , that’s what.” He slapped Ludwig’s shoulder and drained his glass, which he slammed on the bar. “Another round!” 

“On me.” Ludwig passed Gilbert a few francs. “Here’s to a better future.” He knocked his glass with Gilbert’s, and they drank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The SPD is the Social Democratic Party of Germany 
> 
> I appreciate your patience with this chp, uni is destroying my motivation to edit :(  
> Thanks again for reading!! ♥️


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Library Magic - The Head and the Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pg4VCNyzI2I)

Feliciano flicked through the sketchbook he had brought to Berlin. The platzes, ruined Cathedral, the tangible divide of the Brandenburg Gate. People passing on scarred streets, stone walls where swastikas had been hacked off. Rushed scribbles, all of them, choked with imperfection. Blocked-in sketches of Ludwig occupied the last pages, ones he had given up in dissatisfaction.

Feliciano obsessed over perfection when drawing Ludwig. He wanted to catch Ludwig’s voice, every word from his lips, his faintest expressions, smallest gestures. To keep every detail of loving him, hold them close on lonely nights until the sky finally decided to fall. 

Graphite smudged under his fingertips as he brushed the paper’s surface. Closing his eyes, Feliciano dreamed of Ludwig, and thinking of him made Feliciano’s heart pound.

“I love him…” Feliciano clutched his sketchbook to his chest. “I love him, oh, I love him.” He smiled, pulled his fingers along the spine, clutched Berlin’s streets to his heart. In falling in love with Ludwig, he had fallen for Berlin itself, for cheap coffee and cross-country trains, streets wet with rain, murmurs of German, traces of industry and cigarettes. 

“Feli?” Feliciano yelled and clutched his sketchbook tighter. Antonio was in the doorway, apologizing. He had been in Madrid with Lovino for the past week and a half, and was dressed as though he had recently returned from the station. Feliciano stood up to greet him. 

“How was Madrid?” he asked. 

“Wonderful, it’s so much warmer there,” he said. “I wish you could have come, it was gorgeous, and we had plenty of delicious food. Lovi’s exceptional at sniffing out good restaurants.” Feliciano grinned, exclaiming his agreement. “And the wine, too, but you know I’m biased.”

“You always know the best Spanish wines, I trust you. I’ve always told you, you need to be a sommelier,” Feliciano said. Antonio smiled but shook his head. He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his toes. 

“Although, things aren’t great over there, what with Franco. I’m glad we chose Italy.” He sighed. “Almost forgot! Lovi got you some truffles, they’re in the fridge downstairs. I told Marianne not to eat them, but we’ll see.”

Lovino and Antonio had announced their plan to move to Italy roughly a year ago; moving to another country wasn’t done on a whim. If Feliciano wanted to return home, it would require planning, and if he considered moving to Germany, it would take more still. The idea of moving to Germany with Ludwig refused to leave Feliciano’s mind, even as he attempted drowning it out with realism. But realism was awful.

Why be pragmatic? He was in love, so in love he found a new meaning for the word and fell for love itself. He had danced with Eros and fallen asleep in Venus’s arms. Ludwig had too, loved him too, and he had enough practicality to make Feliciano’s idealism real. Feliciano wanted to be in love in a foreign capital, with Ludwig. His name alone made Feliciano dizzy. If ever he had to give a name to love, it would have been Ludwig’s. 

“I’ll take them with me when I go to Ludwig’s. He finally has a few days off, and he wants me to help him _study_.” 

“Study?” Antonio asked. “He just got off work!”

“I know!” Feliciano shook his head. “If I didn’t love him, I think I’d actively avoid speaking to him. What kind of sadist studies in their free time?” Antonio shuddered. 

“Is he going to university?” Feliciano shook his head. 

“Not yet. He’s taking classes at some British university over the summer, so he’s learning English. I asked him why he wanted me to help him study English since I know maybe two words, and he said I didn’t need to actually do anything, I just needed to be in the room so he would feel too judged to take a break.” Antonio laughed. “I know. Poor man” 

Antonio stepped away from the stairs to let Feliciano pass. “Well, have fun…? Be safe.” 

“I will have the time of my life. Bye, Antonio! Tell Lovino I said thanks for the chocolate!” Feliciano rushed into the kitchen for the chocolate. He savored the mild autumn weather on his walk to Ludwig’s apartment. Like that day in Dresden, beside the Spree, except today Feliciano was only moderately caffeinated. 

Ludwig was at the kitchen table, a hand dug in his wet hair as he scribbled away with a worn fountain pen. On either side of his notes were two books, and above those were dictionary and a grammar book opened to varying pages. 

“I brought chocolate,” Feliciano said by way of greeting. “They’re from Madrid, Antonio got them. I’ll put them in the fridge for now, since I see you’re busy.” Ludwig nodded. “What are you doing?” 

“Reading.” 

“I got that far.” 

“I’m reading the sentence in English,” he tapped his pen on the right book, “then in German.” He moved the pen to the left. “Then I write down the differences in sentence structure and whatever words I don’t know. After I finish the chapter, I look up the words and the grammar, take my notes, and reread the chapter.” Feliciano raised his eyebrows.

“For how long?” Feliciano asked. 

“Several hours. Don’t worry, I took a break. I went for short a run.” 

“I guess that counts, but I bet a short run for you is twenty kilometres,” Feliciano said. 

“Eleven.” 

“Ludwig! You have to have some relaxation, or you’ll break your brain, and then you won’t learn anything ever again.” Ludwig rolled his eyes. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, I’ll… bite you. Actually, you’d probably like that, hmm?” he kissed Ludwig’s ear.

“Feli… I need to focus. Please.” 

Feliciano sighed but sat down, taking his sketchbook out. Ludwig’s dedication was intimidating enough to make Feliciano draw even though he was uninspired. Using the sentiments he’d had in his studio, Feliciano tried to draw Ludwig, but not only on how he looked now—deep in concentration with half-wet hair and his glasses too far up his nose. 

When Feliciano stared too long, Ludwig met Feliciano’s eyes over his glasses, smiled, and returned to studying. It eased Feliciano’s frustration for an instant, but only that. He set his pencil down and sighed, hands on his cheeks. 

“What’s wrong?” Ludwig didn’t look up.

“My art is shit, that’s what’s wrong.” Feliciano’s voice wavered. 

Ludwig set his pen down. “Maybe you should take some classes.” Feliciano squinted. “Well, you clearly don’t know how to improve your art problem, that could help. Perhaps you don’t like your art because of something you don’t know how to fix.” Feliciano frowned, but swallowed his irritation or insistence academics didn’t solve everything. “Or maybe you just haven’t found your muse.” 

“I was drawing you. How could _you_ not be my muse?” Feliciano said. “I’m just getting pissy. I can’t draw you like I want to.” Ludwig leaned on the table, careful not to disturb the drying ink, and asked what Feliciano meant. “I want to paint you, more than you. Everything I love about you. I should be able to make a hundred masterpieces, and more every day.” 

Ludwig raised his eyebrows. “Well, I’m not a masterpiece of a man, perhaps that’s the problem.” 

Feliciano sat back. “How could you say that?” he whispered. “You’re so intelligent, and kind, and helpful, and gorgeous enough to break Venus’s heart ten times over.” Feliciano entwined his fingers with Ludwig’s and pressed his palm. Ludwig reddened. “It’s true!” 

“Thank you, Feli. I don’t… I don’t know what to say.” 

“You don’t need to say anything, darling.” Feliciano pressed his lips to Ludwig’s knuckles. “You should take a break, it’s been about two hours.” Ludwig nodded, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. “Do you want some tea?” Ludwig nodded again, kissing Feliciano’s hand in thanks. Feliciano put the kettle on and wandered back over to Ludwig to glance down at his books, which were a mess of annotations. 

“I’m surprised you write in your books.” Feliciano kissed the top of Ludwig’s head. Ludwig leaned against him, eyes closed. He yawned. Feliciano brushed his jaw and smoothed his fingertips along his neck. “Aw, Ludwig, are you tired?” 

“Yes.” With sigh, he closed his books. “I don’t believe I ever told you which apartment I chose,” he said. Feliciano shook his head. “Here…” Ludwig flipped his notebook open to a page with one of the listings pinned to it with a paperclip. “The one you liked, with the natural light.” 

Feliciano slipped his arms around Ludwig’s shoulders. Ludwig held his forearm. “I don’t want you to go.” Feliciano pressed his face to Ludwig’s neck. “But I want you to be happy.” Ludwig held tighter to Feliciano’s arm, bowing his head to kiss the back of Feliciano’s wrist. “And if moving to Berlin and aggressively studying makes you happy, I wholeheartedly support it.” 

“I appreciate you saying that, Feli,” Ludwig said, rubbing Feliciano’s arm. 

“You’re very welcome.” Feliciano giggled. “You’re so polite, you thank me for everything. You say thank you after sex.” 

“Well, I want you to know how much I appreciate you. I worry about taking things for granted, and I don’t ever want you to feel like that. I…” Ludwig faced Feliciano. “I… I know I’m not very good at expressing verbal affection. It’s not something, I mean, well, that doesn’t matter. My point is, I… I always want you to know how much you mean to me.” Feliciano’s eyes stung, and he hugged Ludwig tight to himself. 

Ludwig kissed his cheek, but was quickly interrupted by the kettle and stood up. “What kind of tea would you like?” he asked, turning to the narrow wooden box. Inside were five small jars with varying types of tea and a bundle of tea bags. 

“Let me do it,” Feliciano said. “Everything in your house is so neat. It’s very calming.” He ran his hands over the jars. “Which do you want?” 

“This here. It’s passionfruit.” He opened the jar and offered it to Feliciano, who gave it a sniff and smiled. 

“You like fruit tea?” 

“I do,” Ludwig said. “Try the rosehip, you might like it. It’s good with honey.” 

“Rosehip.” Feliciano sniffed it before filling the tea bags, careful to avoid upsetting Ludwig’s need for neatness. “Go lie down, I can handle this without supervision,” Feliciano said. Ludwig kissed his shoulder, going into his room while Feliciano finished the tea. He set it on Ludwig’s bedside table the truffles, settling beside Ludwig on the bed. Ludwig’s room was more stripped than when Feliciano had last visited, and the sight hurt his heart. 

Ludwig reached for his tea while Feliciano sat sank against the pillows. Feliciano started as Ludwig lie against him, but relaxed and clasped his hands over Ludwig’s heart. They drank their tea in silence, sharing the truffles and watching a city neither of them had really loved; cars trundled by on avenues below, people loitered and smoked on street corners. 

“I never see you relax,” Feliciano said. 

“I don’t, really, unless I’m going to sleep,” Ludwig said. “But I’m tired—” 

“You don’t need to justify it.” Feliciano sighed, kneading Ludwig’s shoulders. “Maybe I will take classes, like you said. I need to swallow my pride. They’ll probably help,” he said. “They’ll at least get me thinking about things differently.” Ludwig nodded his approval and turned onto his stomach, sneaking his arms around Feliciano’s waist and holding onto Feliciano’s sweater. The wool scratched Ludwig’s cheek, but he buried his face in it. Feliciano petted Ludwig’s hair, humming something in a feathery undertone. 

Feliciano breathed a little _oh!_ and eased himself up. “I forgot. I have those photos from Berlin. In my back pocket. Can you get them?” Ludwig gave him a look which Feliciano returned with a subtle smirk. Feliciano raised his hips for Ludwig to take the pictures from his slacks pocket, reaching over to help himself to another truffle. Ludwig lay the pictures out along the comforter in a square of sun along. Dark but for himself or Feliciano under lamplight in that unremarkable place beside the Spree. Unremarkable to anyone but them. 

“This one is my favorite,” Feliciano said, gesturing with his truffle. “You look so handsome.” He looked up from biting the truffle and grinned. “Do you still get all red when I call you handsome?”

“No, but I don’t get tired of it.” He picked up a photo of Feliciano. It gave him a soft smile, making Feliciano’s heart trip up. “May… may I keep this one?” 

“Of course,” Feliciano said. “I’m glad you picked that one. I look nice in it.” 

Ludwig kissed Feliciano’s forehead. “You do.” Feliciano smiled, collecting the photos from the duvet to tuck back into his slacks. Feliciano rested his chin on his knee, half his face reflected on the window by deepening shades of afternoon sunlight. 

“Can I help you move in?” he asked. 

“Certainly, I’d greatly appreciate that,” Ludwig said. “Though, I might invite my brother, too. We’re beginning to get on again, and I think he wants to be involved in major evens in my life.” Feliciano nodded. “But…” Ludwig lay an arm around Feliciano’s waist, bringing him closer. “I can put him up in a hotel, you’ll stay with me. I’ll say…” He frowned, but Feliciano grinned. 

“It’s for my art,” Feliciano said. “That’s always my excuse. Always. _Per l’arte_. It’s my motto.” Ludwig raised his chin when Feliciano stroked his jaw, making Feliciano chuckle and brush his knuckles under Ludwig’s chin. Ludwig curled the pillowcase corner around his finger.

“Feli, could I… I mean, could I lie against you again?” Feliciano ached at his timid timbre. He opened his arms for Ludwig and hugged him close, soothed by the warmth of Ludwig’s embrace. 

Ludwig rested his head on Feliciano’s arm, gazing up at him. “There’s a jazz band playing tomorrow night, maybe fifteen minutes away,” he said. “Would you have any interest in coming with me?”

“I’d love to.” Feliciano ran a finger down Ludwig’s nose, eliciting a delicate smile from him. He closed his eyes as Feliciano’s thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. 

_I love you, I love you, I love you so much._ Not saying it stung Feliciano, but the threat of frightening Ludwig off with intensity held his tongue. Instead he speckled Ludwig’s forehead and cheeks with gentle kisses until Ludwig kissed him, so softly it broke Feliciano’s heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a lil sappy and melodramatic this chp oops 
> 
> Historical Hetalia Week is coming up and I'm going to try writing some one shots for it, so I might not be able to update this fine fellow. Thanks again for your patience <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Make You Better - The Decemberists](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xq76aQRmbQA)

Feliciano stumbled onto the train, flush-faced with his ticket crushed in his back pocket. He braced himself on the headrest of Ludwig’s chair, panting. “I’m… uh, I’m sorry, Ludwig,” he gasped. “I got up on time, I did, but Marianne needed my help with something, and I couldn’t say no…” 

“Pfft, relax. The train doesn’t leave for another ten minutes,” Gilbert said. Feliciano raised his head, struggling to steady his breath. He pieced together Ludwig’s white lie with an increasing glower while Ludwig fidgeted with his hands. 

“I gave you an early time so you could _avoid_ a last-minute dash. And running is good for you,” Ludwig said. Feliciano made a face at Ludwig and tossed himself into the seat beside the window, stowing his suitcase beneath the table between them. 

“Sorry Lud’s so anal,” Gilbert said.

Feliciano rubbed his forehead. “Me too.” Ludwig frowned at Gilbert over his book. Gilbert and Feliciano interacting was a nightmare Ludwig had hoped to avoid at least several months, possibly forever. But he had prepared. 

“Gilbert learned some Italian at university,” Ludwig said. “He’s actually quite good.”

“What do you mean _actually_?” Gilbert asked. “But yeah, I’m pretty conversational, my pronunciation is great.” 

Feliciano brightened a bit. “ _Beh, di che cosa vorresti parlare, allora_?” Gilbert squinted and glanced at Ludwig, who was hidden away behind his book, before admitting something about not having any idea what Feliciano had just said. “No worries. I’m sure you just need to hear the language again. I asked what you’d like to talk about.” 

Having avoided discussion about himself, Ludwig let Gilbert and Feliciano’s conversation slip into the surrounding murmurs and train rumbling on the tracks. Only a half hour elapsed before Feliciano fell asleep against the window with the sunrise across his closed eyes; they had left early to arrive at Berlin early enough to meet the van line. 

It was early evening when the train arrived in Berlin’s central station. Gilbert, Ludwig, and Feliciano were all groggy as they dragged themselves amongst the thronging platform for the street and sanctity of a cab. There was a short queue of taxis along the curb, and Gilbert hurried ahead to get one. Feliciano collapsed in the backseat beside Ludwig while Gilbert returned from helping to load their suitcases into the trunk. Ludwig gave the driver his address. His address. A small smile betrayed him.

Even with the excitement, Ludwig’s heart was heavy. Moving to Berlin was going to twist and tangle his relationship with Feliciano over and over again. Would anything be left of it after a month? Two? Three? A year? 

Ludwig turned to Feliciano, who had closed his eyes. “Are you alright? You’re very pale,” Ludwig asked. 

“Yeah, traveling just wears me out. I only need a bit of food and some water, then I’ll be fine,” Feliciano said. Ludwig remained concerned, and he pressed the back of his hand to Feliciano’s forehead and cheek to make sure he wasn’t feverish. Feliciano smiled at Ludwig’s touch. 

Gilbert leaned around from the front seat. “I have some _butterkeks_.” He fished around in the bag at his feet. “I only ate two. They’re probably kinda stale, since they're like seven months old—” Ludwig made a disgusted noise. 

“Throw those away, Gilbert. Feliciano, there’s a bag of apples and some almonds in my suitcase. I’ll them for you once we get to the apartment,” Ludwig said. 

“You’re such a mother. Someone should get you a _Mutterkreuz_ ,” Gilbert said. 

“Gilbert!” Ludwig snapped. He was saved from having to further chastise his brother when the cab halted in front of his apartment. Gilbert paid while Ludwig stepped onto the pavement, at once getting another swell of excitement. He wished he could take Feliciano’s hand. 

All three lugged their luggage and boxes up the steps. Feliciano dropped the box of books at the threshold, gasping for breath. It was barely more than a studio, but the huge windows gave the space a more open appearance. Feliciano hurried over to the front window and leaned on the sill. 

“Think of how sunny it’ll be in the morning,” he said, smiling over his shoulder at Ludwig. 

“Yes,” Ludwig muttered. He looked away, unable to smother his rising sense of encroaching loss. Ludwig turned around. “We… we’ll need more nails for the bookshelf. I’m going to go to the hardware store and get us some dinner, I’ll be back in an hour or so. Oh, Feliciano, the apples are in the paper bag. It’s right on top.” Ludwig pivoted towards Feliciano to kiss him, only just stopping himself and hurrying down the stairs. 

Feliciano opened Ludwig’s suitcase and helped himself to a handful of almonds and an apple as Gilbert assembled the bookshelf. 

“You know, I’m surprised you’re friends with Ludwig,” Gilbert said after a long stretch of silence. “All his friends are… Hmm. Essentially, they’re all academics writing dissertations on, I don’t know, types of obscure Roman cloth. So I guess what I’m saying is I’m surprised Ludwig is _friends_ with someone who’s actually interesting.” His weight on the word “friends” gave Feliciano a hint of unease. 

“Not shocking. But I don’t mind academics. My dad is a professor, back in Italy. He wrote all those books about ancient Rome that Ludwig loves so much.” One of the first times Ludwig had smiled at him was when they talked about Rome. In the rain, beside that old space heater. 

“Really? Huh. Small world,” Gilbert said. Feliciano entertained idle chatter with him, checking his watch periodically. When Ludwig promised he would be back at a certain time, he always was. And without Ludwig there, Gilbert had become less talkative and overall bestowed a pervasive awkwardness to the room, which worsened when Gilbert asked, 

“Look, I know this is none of my business, and Lud’s not going to want me to know, but… are you two…?” Feliciano stopped eating his almonds and hesitated. Surely Ludwig wouldn’t want him to say anything. “I’ll take that as a yes. I always know.” 

Feliciano stood up straight. “What? No! No, that’s not—” 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Gilbert said. “I’m glad he’s finally with someone, you know? He definitely seems happier, so… Just… I wanted to say… Well. Don’t try anything funny.” Gilbert gestured with the hammer. “I’m not trying to scare you or anything, I just worry about him. That’s all.” 

Feliciano set his almonds down and sat on the hardwood across from Gilbert, the half-built bookshelf between them. “It’s sweet of you to worry. My brother’s like that too,” Feliciano said with a faint smile. “But I care about Ludwig more than I can say, and I wouldn’t ever, ever do anything to make him unhappy. Really.” Gilbert scrutinized Feliciano for a moment. 

“Yeah, I know. I don’t _think_ you’ll do anything. I’m just saying. Don’t. Because if you do, I’ll fuck you up.” Gilbert struck a nail hard, and Feliciano flinched. “Not that I’m threatening you or anything, I swear. But. You know. That was a threat.” 

“I’m getting a lot of mixed signals from this conversation,” Feliciano said. He glanced at his watch. Ludwig would be there any minute. A minute was too long. Why would Gilbert think Feliciano would do anything, whatever that meant? What had Feliciano said wrong? Feliciano scraped through their conversations that day, searching for another passing phrase or even a wrong word that had planted the idea in Gilbert’s head that he was an unsatisfactory partner for Ludwig. Was he? 

Ludwig was so driven, and smart, and on top of everything. Gilbert’s comment about Ludwig’s friends. Maybe he hadn’t actually been excited that Ludwig had an “interesting” acquaintance, but was making a passing comment about Feliciano being a painter living in a hostel rather than living on his own with a stable income. Did Gilbert think Feliciano might corrupt Ludwig in some way, perhaps ruin his ambition? What if he did? 

Feliciano had grown miserable with his thoughts when Ludwig walked in with a box of nails and a bag of takeout. 

“Hello.” He tested the tense air. “I got us some food, and the nails.” He tossed the nails to Gilbert and unloaded the food at the counter. Feliciano scurried over to help. “Hey,” Ludwig murmured. “Are you alright, Feliciano?” 

“Yes, I just…” Feliciano huffed. “I don’t think your brother likes me very much. And I kind of wanted him to like me, because he’s your brother and pretty much everyone likes me and I thought we were getting along fine but I guess I was wrong. Did I say something wrong?” 

Ludwig closed his eyes and took a breath. Feliciano apologized, but Ludwig cut him off. “I’m not upset with you. Don’t worry.” 

The three shared a tense meal of tepid Italian food over a large cardboard box of books. Feliciano kept close to Ludwig’s shoulder, so quiet it became unnerving. Ludwig forced a conversation about classical music, which got Feliciano talking and Gilbert grumbling. Ludwig tried four more topics before deciding shifting to Roderich, offering all three of them an opportunity to discuss his strange mannerisms. At Roderich’s expense, they were all less tense at the end of dinner. 

Feliciano cleaned up the leftovers, humming to himself while Ludwig interrogated Gilbert in the hall. 

“What did you say to Feliciano?” 

Gilbert fiddled with his suitcase handle. “Nothing, Luddy!” Ludwig quirked an eyebrow. “I just told him not to try anything.” 

“He’s not going to try anything.” Ludwig’s skin crawled when he said it. The words invited in that irrational fear about Feliciano’s hidden motives or cruelties. It was _irrational_ , it was baseless, but it resurfaced between Ludwig’s restless thoughts. The idea that he could trust and care for Feliciano so much and still fear that unfounded possibility nauseated Ludwig. 

“Don’t threaten my boyfriend,” Ludwig said. 

Gilbert dug his hands in his pockets, facing the bottom of the stairs. “I didn’t. But, look, I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to get messed with all that.” 

“I know. I know you mean well, but please don’t say those things to him. He’s a good person, and he’s sensitive, and it’s important to him that you get along.” 

“I’m sorry. Invite him to come run with us tomorrow, I’ll behave myself, promise.” Gilbert picked at the wooden balustrade. “Have a good night, Luddy.” 

“Goodnight, Gilbert.” 

Gilbert gave a short nod and descended the steps. Ludwig rubbed his forehead and ducked back inside. Feliciano stood at the window, staring down the street towards the cluster of offices and shops fringing the outskirts of Berlin’s downtown. Ludwig stood beside him. Feliciano leaned against his shoulder. 

“Gilbert isn’t mad at you. He’s just overprotective,” Ludwig said. 

“I know. It’s not that.” Feliciano pivoted to lean against the wall. Ludwig drew the curtains closed and bent to kiss him, but Feliciano paused. 

“Let me look at you,” Feliciano whispered. Feliciano’s hand stroked under Ludwig’s chin, up along his jaw. Recalling how Feliciano had touched him weeks ago in their hotel room dragged stagnant excitement to the surface of Ludwig’s skin. It prickled like fading numbness. 

Feliciano drew his fingers up along Ludwig’s nape, into his hair, and kissed him. Ludwig kissed him up against the wall until he couldn’t take it and kissed Feliciano some more. Breathing was a luxury Ludwig didn’t need. What Ludwig did need was impossible to name, but needing and wanting was all Ludwig could do, it drove him down to his knees. Feliciano slid a hand around Ludwig’s throat, tilting Ludwig’s head back to meet his eyes. 

Feliciano’s face flamed. Ludwig was still in disbelief that he could have any effect on him. “You’ve got my interest,” Feliciano said. “Go on.” 

Ludwig obeyed without a word. He refused to waste any chance to touch Feliciano, no matter how faintly, slowly, sparingly. Feliciano’s body was familiar, soft, a refuge. Ludwig struggled for patience amidst the mess of persistent needing and wanting. He kissed Feliciano’s waist, his abdomen, down again, up again. Feliciano’s breath rose and fell beneath Ludwig’s lips. It stumbled as Feliciano unbuttoned his slacks. 

Feliciano pulled his fingers through Ludwig’s hair. “Don’t make me wait,” he said. 

Feliciano gripped Ludwig’s hair hard when Ludwig took him in his mouth, but his hesitance softened any roughness. In an attempt to break that hesitance, Ludwig gathered his breath and choked himself on Feliciano’s cock. Feliciano sucked his breath through his teeth and pressed his palm against the wall. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Feliciano breathed. “Do that again…” 

“Make me,” Ludwig said. “I-I’m not saying that to be impertinent. I want you to be rougher. If you want to, of course.” 

“ _Impertinent_ ,” Feliciano chuckled. “I do. I’m just nervous I’ll go too far.” 

“I’ll knock on the floor if you do,” Ludwig said. He kissed Feliciano’s thigh, giving a low murmur of surprise when Feliciano forced his head down without warning. Ludwig relaxed to allow Feliciano to control his motion better, relieved to drop the tension from his body. Ludwig’s knees bit into the hardwood as his body shifted with the back-and-forth rhythm of his head. 

Feliciano draped his arms over Ludwig’s shoulders, sinking down the wall. “Kiss me, kiss me, Ludwig…” Ludwig held Feliciano as he collapsed onto the hardwood, pressing his forehead to Feliciano’s. 

Feliciano wrapped his legs around Ludwig’s waist to bring him nearer. He kissed Ludwig open-mouthed and demanding, bit Ludwig’s lip. It stung. Ludwig wanted to hurt more. Hurt that was too good to want. He wanted too much. 

Feliciano stumbled when he stood. Ludwig wavered on his sore knees. 

All Feliciano’s harshness fell away when he undressed Ludwig, slow enough to stir new restlessness to Ludwig’s stomach. He leaned against Ludwig’s chest to listen to his heart, keeping time against Ludwig’s collarbone. Feliciano’s smile made Ludwig’s heart beat faster, overwhelmed him with adoration. Ludwig kissed him, careful about undressing Feliciano with the same care and slowness. 

Feliciano guided Ludwig onto the bed, its sheets and duvet warm and welcoming to Ludwig’s bare skin. 

Feliciano knelt over Ludwig, tantalizing him with his mouth, his teeth, his palms that stung and made Ludwig’s eyes water. He had to bite one of the pillows to distract from the sting. Rosy bruises formed across Ludwig’s throat, the insides and backs of his thighs. Ludwig whimpered and writhed under Feliciano for more, _give me more_ , _make me hurt, make me feel how much you want me. By God it hurts how much you love me. Hurt me with it._

Ludwig’s eyelids fluttered as Feliciano rolled his hips against Ludwig’s lap, slow as ever, his hands around Ludwig’s wrists. Ludwig tossed his head back and groaned, heavy with lulling pleasure. 

“Come on, look at me.” Feliciano’s voice was a gasp. It drove Ludwig out of his mind, Feliciano’s breathless voice, his winding smirk. Ludwig met Feliciano’s eyes, enchanted by the flush across Feliciano’s nose. “Tell me,” Feliciano panted, “tell me no one’s ever fucked you like this.” 

Ludwig struggled for his voice, lost in a lilting measure of breathy whines. His forming words were caught up in a noise of surprised delight as Feliciano pressed his hips harder. Feliciano grinned and did it again, again and again, kissing Ludwig’s breath away. 

“No one… No one has ever fucked me like you do,” Ludwig said. “No one, no one has ever loved me like you do, oh my _God_ , _Feliciano_ … Harder, please, please…” 

“Since you asked so nicely…” Feliciano stroked Ludwig’s hair. Ludwig grabbed Feliciano’s wrist as he came, needing something to hold on to. 

“You look so good when you come,” Feliciano breathed. “Wish you could see yourself.” Ludwig hardly heard him. “Hey.” Feliciano buried his knees into Ludwig’s ribs. “I still haven’t.” Ludwig pushed himself up on his elbows and finished Feliciano off with his hand, captivated by Feliciano’s expressions, the flush on his shoulders, his breathy whines. 

“Ow…” Feliciano muttered. Ludwig pushed himself up on his elbows, concerned. “My legs fell asleep.” Ludwig chuckled and wiped his hand off on the sheet. Feliciano curled against him, stroking his side and murmuring lovely things to him while Ludwig’s heartbeat and breathing settled. Feliciano brushed Ludwig’s hair back. 

“Do you want some water?” 

Ludwig thanked him and Feliciano stood up to get Ludwig a glass. Ludwig sat up against the pillows, peering through the curtains. As with Paris, Ludwig had put it up against the window. The view looked down one of the back streets rather than an avenue, but through a few buildings he could see the downtown. 

Ludwig drank the water while Feliciano massaged his shoulders, kissing his neck lightly as he did. 

Feliciano curled back up against Ludwig’s chest, facing the window. Cracks of city light came through the curtains. 

“I don’t want to sleep yet,” Feliciano muttered. He put his arms around Ludwig’s shoulders, facing the window. Ludwig held him, softly stroking Feliciano’s side. Feliciano twitched. Ludwig sat up. 

“Feli?” 

Feliciano shook his head, pressing the heel of his hand to his eye. He was crying. Ludwig stilled as Feliciano threw his arms around Ludwig’s shoulders, hugging him tight. 

“I don’t want to go, I don’t want to leave you.” He shook his head, keeping his face pressed tight to Ludwig’s shoulder. “I just want to be with you, it’s all I want.” 

Ludwig put his face in Feliciano’s hair, rocking him softly. What did he say? It’s okay? It’s alright? Don’t worry? Should he bother, when it wouldn’t sound sincere? 

“You aren’t going to leave me forever,” Ludwig said. “I told you, didn’t I? I’ll think of something. Not tonight, but I will.” Feliciano nodded, wiping his eyes. Ludwig hugged him harder. Ludwig’s own eyes stung with all the extremes of the day—moving, managing his fragile relationship with his brother, avoiding thinking about leaving Feliciano, sex. Ludwig bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, but it did nothing. 

Feliciano felt him shudder and turned around, bringing the blanket close around Ludwig. He had no soft words either, but buried himself against Ludwig and the silky and cried with him as the night grew heavier and heavier above them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mutterkreuz refers to the Cross of Honor of the German Mother


End file.
